


It Changes In the Retelling

by Niedosytnix



Series: Inevitable Places [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU - Inquisitor knows everything, Anal Sex, Antivans are hawt, Attempt at Humor, Bad attempt at multi-lingual Inquisitor, Biting, Blood and Violence, Curses, Dominance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Exquisite pain, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I can't write anything nice, I'm Sorry, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Major Canon-Divergence, Marking, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Minor Original Character(s), Opposite of time travel, Oral Sex, Physical Trauma, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Scarification, Shameless Smut, So much angst, Solas is a jerk, Submission, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, The Elvhen were jerks, but it's also a love story, elves with baggage, eventual top/bottom switchup, everything that can go wrong does, implied wasnt a strong enough warning sorry, inquisitor has dumb jokes, inquisitor is also a bit of a jerk, relationships of questionable healthiness, tagging to scare you away again, well mostly, whatever that is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niedosytnix/pseuds/Niedosytnix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One thousand ageless days is your penance for daring to seek what belongs not to your kind.  See if you survive the burden of your fleeting immortality. See if you could endure such a gift as your days grow dull in the retelling.  The longer you persist, the less kinder things will hold your interest.  Madness is the price to pay for wisdom and we endure.  May you learn.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Be more careful what you seek.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Nadas'an was cursed, an incantation, an intriguing book.  Words spoken aloud sealed his fate to relive the same day again and again.<br/>
582 days in. 418 to go.</p><p>[Aka Solas has a fascination with their Antivan/Dalish Inquisitor and things go to shit.]</p><p>Kinda 50 first dates meets Groundhog Day while wrapped up tight in a nightmare of my own making. Yet kinda Inception?  -If their companions were projections.  This is going to be <i><strike>terrible</strike> amazing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 Drakonis, 42 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself three things when I started writing for this fandom. One- that I’d never do Male Lavellan/Solas, two- that I’d never do time travel, and three I've flirted with- and is going unnamed for now, but is absolutely happening here. So here I am breaking at least two and a half of those.
> 
> ~~Shhh... pretend this isn't happening. I just need it out of my head.~~ Oh it's happening. 
> 
> Tags subject to change/ ie. tagged for future chapters, might revise this. This is probably going to hurt, each time worse than the last. I'll try to remember to forewarn chapters that feature the tags.
> 
> Want amazing art? [Here's some seriously amazing art of Solas and Nadas'an (NSFW)](http://horns-of-the-inquisition.tumblr.com/post/153311663628/white-lies-and-bite-marks-nadasan-and-solas-from) by Horns-of-the-Inquisition (Horns of Mischief).

 

Nadas'an was heavily freckled underneath his tan. And Solas knew precisely how many there were dusting his features, scattered up the delicate tips of his ears. He had yet to count the trail of them across the man's shoulders and he mourned that he may never get the chance. His long dark hair shone a deep red in the sun. His honey yellow eyes were sharp now, but still at times the softness they once held would shine through. The impervious smirk that used to hang so readily on his lips was rare these days in any genuine capacity- Holding his humor as a shield to keep the world from seeing the depth of pain he carried close to his chest. When his laugh was genuine it always bore his original accent, yet lately it had been forced- carrying the falsetto of courtly intrigue.

Solas _hated_ it and it was all his fault.

~~~=~~~

The pale light of morning crept across his room, casting the exact same shadows as all the days before it. The heavens did not deviate in his abyss, no- that would require that time marched onward. Though, it gave rise to an interesting habit, he could tell time by shadow nearly anywhere in the fortress, and if he ever made it out of this day- he'd be a different variety of lost. Nadas'an rolled over, a long sigh drawn from his lips- yet he didn't need to look to the desk, to see the helm he always placed there, _missing_ , to know- the day had repeated once again. The helm, the mirror, the pile of wood next to his fire- they were all devices by which he could gauge upon waking to know if this solitary day had repeated once more.  
  
They weren't needed in this waking.  
  
Absently running his hand down his neck, trailing lower across his left side, the mortal wounds were gone. Healed as if they never existed, and _truly_ to anyone else they hadn't. But he remembered, he always remembered.  Not even when his days turned to darkened hours destructively indulging in the tavern was it enough to erase the things he could recall.  
  
He glanced to the desk anyway, the helm wasn't there. Reset in the retelling to where it lay abandoned on the couch upon his return during day zero, 30th of _Guardian-Pluitanis_ , _true yesterday_ , the one everyone else remembered. He'd haphazardly stripped off his armor after returning from some lengthy excursion, climbed into the bath and then climbed into bed. It had been so long ago to him it felt like years- and _ostensibly_ it had been.  
  
He was the only thing that ever changed.  
  
One day, repeated, from sun rise to moon set. Not even endeavoring to stay awake would thwart the curse, and he had tried _everything_. Yet inescapably, once Satina reached the apex of its transit, his eyelids would grow heavy, his movements slowed, and he would succumb wherever he was only to wake in his bed as if nothing had happened. Objects he moved never stayed put, words he imparted were forgotten by others, marks inflicted vanished. He always woke whole in body, he always woke burdened by the memories of a ‘yesterday’ that never happened, Nadas'an always woke alone.  
  
Reluctantly rolling out of bed, he dressed in the light linen shirt and woven leggings he normally wore. Fleetingly thankful the advisors had long since ceased to push the beige monstrosity on him… If he had to endure _that_ conversation over and over each day… well, he was unhinged enough as it was. Pausing to second-guess his choice, his gaze lingering over the clawed and plated heap, _he should have worn armor yesterday_. He abandoned the thought, it wouldn't be needed if he left soon. He had memorized their movements, playing out like clockwork- he could avoid them all if he reached Solas without notice.

~~~=~~~

 

"Solas, may I have a word?"

"Of course."

"In private?"

The Mage raised an eyebrow, a curious expression he'd seen hundreds of times before without fail- but he knew the man would agree. Nadas'an turned wordlessly, his steps leading to the underground study, hoping this time went better than the last.

He beckoned the man inward as he shut the door, pacing to the desk that held his predicament. A book he shouldn't have read. An incantation he shouldn't have spoken aloud.

Solas waited patiently, at ease as ever. And he knew exactly how that expression of confidence would change at his words.

Nadas'an gestured to the book, "I know you know what this is, and I need you to help me lift the curse on this page."

A fleeting moment of shock crossed Solas' face as he shifted on his feet, and in a moment the man would say the words he knew by rote.  He spoke first with the well-worn sentence crafted to convince the man it wasn't a joke.  " _Yes_ , I am trapped. _No_ you haven't succeeded yet, and yes- I know you're not only what you say you are- _Fen'harel_."

It was almost satisfying watching the serious elf's jaw drop each time he said it, the magnificent faltering of composure. It had taken him _weeks_ to puzzle it out, the innocuous hints he dropped as he tried again and again to lift the curse all added up to one realization. Solas was _the_ dreaded wolf, and... the only one who ever believed him.

The flurry of minute expressions that crossed the man's face finally abated, looking up to meet his gaze, he opened his mouth, and Nadas'an answered before he asked. "Five hundred and Eighty-two days now I've been trapped here. And no, I won't tell anyone- I tried that on day Fifty-seven..." He shrugged lazily, "Not even Dorian believed me and he saw the evidence of time magic in Redcliffe."  He offered the mage a slight look of apology at the fleeting annoyance he wore at being interrupted.

He'd have to credit the man if he ever made it out of this curse, immediately grasping the gravity of the situation day after day, listing off possible approaches.  It was too bad they were all already long since disproven. "No, you've tried that, last time you said something about a key event that might set me free, the day... ah _ended_ before you figured out what it was. Though- I'll admit I didn't believe you. I expect you were trying to keep my hopes up. _And_ if not, I can tell you, it's not setting the book on fire. I've tried that, _often_." He sighed, "You even attempted speaking the same incantation- hoping it might trap you as well, to give you more time. Thank you by the way for the thought, but we both know why it didn't work."

Solas stared right through him in his preoccupation. It was a look that always put him on edge no matter how many times he saw it. He felt too much like a ghost as it was.  The look finally lifted and he could see the thoughts now forming. He had spent hundreds of days in the company of the apostate... Tirelessly working through theories and different approaches. And though it went unsaid more often than not, they both knew.

It was a curse whose cure was to run its course.

Solas had confided in him at some point around day Thirty. After which Nadas'an spent the day embarrassing himself in the tavern, the Mage sedately drinking at his side shooing away anyone who dared to interfere. He had said the curse had been crafted to punish humans in the early days of their encroach upon the Elvhen territories. They sought immortality, so the Elvhen had gifted it to those who chased it in their own cruelly cryptic manner. A curse to force them to live a thousand ageless days, slowly going mad, reliving the same day again and again. Coming out of it changed- broken.

It appeared it affected anyone not long-lived. It had been one of the many things that tipped Solas' hand.

The Mage leveled him with a grave look, "Do you still remember your purpose? Has it affected your mind? Your morals, your... spirit?"

He knew the question would be coming, yet his answer changed with the retelling. Today was not likely to be one of his better days. Last night he'd ended his day with the sharp edge of a blade, and not for the first time, but the location had changed.  _Not_ his usual private end... The maelstrom of horror he watched unfold on the faces of others as his life bled from him draped across the throne... He shook off the thought, certain the man caught the pained look he wore far too freely, and there was no point in lying. "I remember my purpose, but I am no longer who I was."

The man sighed, "Then you know if I should fail..."

"That I must tell you what transpired as soon as this day finally ends? Yes, though I have no doubts that it will be _painfully_ obvious."

Solas nodded, "Then I will try. In the meantime, is there anything you have yet to experience?"

He chuckled darkly. _Oh_ the things he had done... He'd fucked his way through much of the Inquisition, men and women alike. He'd learned enough Tevene from Dorian to convince any Magister of his birthright- if not for his ears. He'd learned the tongue of the ancient Elvhen from Solas- many of his better days were spent not looking for an end to the curse, but ensconced in the rotunda learning from the man. He was becoming quite proficient, though there was much the wolf could still teach him. He trained relentlessly, his physique alone had changed in the reliving- no longer was he quite so lean, though his armor hid it well. It had been a curious development, expecting his body to remain unchanged. Solas had explained that it belonged to the nature of the spell.  A cruel twist to help cement the horror of it by making it painfully obvious to others what had taken place, as many wasted away by the end of the curse. Coming out of it as frail in body as in mind.

It had set a temporary fire in him to come out of it stronger instead. The embers of it still lingered, yet he worried it would not last much longer.

He had taken up both blades and bows, as well as adding several new spells to his collection. He could now easily beat anyone within the fortress in single combat. Though not by strength alone- he'd spent days watching their techniques and he knew all their weaknesses.  While he could learn, they never remembered his increasingly knowledgeable instruction.

Nadas'an donned a lazy smirk, eyeing the expectant man with intent... "Well, I can say I haven't had the... _Pleasure_... Of your company."

Solas rolled his eyes.

"Relax, I'm only mostly joking." It earned him a delightfully pointed look. "What? Don't blame me- you're attractive. I've spent more days next to you than anyone else. You can hardly grudge me the crush." He knew the surprise on the man's face was only there to hide the edge of a smirk. Playing to his pride always opened doors to interesting conversations and getting a proverbial rise out of him was the highlight of his day. It easily trumped the look of disbelief on Varric's face when he spun his tale, as well as the sweet blush that once rose on Cassandra's face when he quoted smutty poetry to her.

He quickly diverted the painful reminder with a long drawn out sigh, running a hand down his face, wracking his mind for what he hadn't done. It was a dwindling list. "I have yet to learn how to forge my own weapons. I haven't pissed off the top of the tower and I still haven't found precisely the correct line of questioning to get Vivienne to sing me a song. I _know_ she has it in her."

It earned him another pointed look, "Have you accomplished that much that those are your only options?"

He sighed, "No. I'm just losing my creativity. Can you remove my vallaslin again? That's always fun."

The man was stunned for a second before a soft rolling chuckle left him with a shake of his head. Nadas'an couldn't help but join in quietly.

He left the Mage to his work, barefaced once more as he strode out to find a breakfast he wasn't already sick of.

 

The days he asked Solas for help averting the curse were becoming fewer and farther between. It was more a futile effort than anything, and he felt bad for wasting the man's time- even though time was a useless concept to him and Solas wouldn't remember. He hadn't planned on bothering the Mage today at all except... The look on his face last night, the unhindered grief that shot through the man as he reflexively cast his spell, ever the healer, attempting to fix the self-inflicted wound... Even despite his own feeble attempt at dispelling it. Even though his life poured out to stain the stone far too quickly to stop, a hysterical laugh lingering on his lips. There had been something unnervingly real in that moment that hung as the light died. He thought about it, disquieted as he snuck through the kitchens, gathering up the ingredients to his apology. Solas wouldn't know why, but he felt compelled to make an offering to the wolf after last night.

As he crept back out into the vaulted chamber, pausing behind a pillar precisely as the commander walked by, it hit him. The depth of Solas' reaction had been _entirely_ unexpected. It gave him pause as he hovered outside the door to the study. There had been a real fear in his gaze that reached him in a way the shocked cry of his name couldn't, not over the cold dizziness that consumed him, the ringing in his ears that swallowed all sound.

He pushed open the door before the commander returned, quietly shutting it once more not a moment too soon.  That was another thing he wasn't prepared to face this early, yet forced to choose- Solas was by far the better option. Balancing breakfast even as he tried to balance his thoughts, he reached for the man he had become as he strode with all the grace of a rogue, stealing deeper into the study.

Solas was already deep in a book he had watched the man read many times- Knowing it held no answers. He quietly set down the one type of tea the man liked, a curiously light drink sweetened with honey. Nadas'an had tried it once out of curiosity- but found himself barely able to keep his eyes open long before noon. He wasn't sure how the Dreamer Mage ever managed to resist the Fade. He took up his own cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew from a home he'd never truly seen, along with a tray of pastries he hadn't had in at least a month. He stifled his amusement as Solas' nose wrinkled at the scent. The man never understood his fascination with coffee, no matter how many times he had to explain to the Mage that being awake was the only time he lived. No dreams came in this wretched place between yesterday and tomorrow.

He sank to the floor with his half of the flaky confections, wondering which line of banter the man would pick up next. It was admittedly less traveled territory for him, not making too much of a habit of coming on to the Dread Wolf.

"Have you and I never?"

Oh, _this_ conversation. He feigned disinterest, knowing getting his hopes up led nowhere. "No, not for lack of trying though." He managed a small laugh he didn't truly feel. "Truthfully I haven't lain with anyone in weeks. It's become a bit too obvious to them, well, that I'm not what I was." He sighed, shoving another pastry in his mouth, swallowing roughly. "Their questions are getting more suspicious, and getting smited is damned uncomfortable. You on the other hand, you believe me every time. It's... The only predictability that's a relief."

"And how do I know you are not lying? I would not remember such an encounter."

He chuckled quietly as the man so effortlessly made him a liar, _"Oh you'd never forget it."_ Solas' amused look caught his eye, and he quickly recanted his half mumbled jest, averting his gaze, "No. I have no reason to lie to you Solas, and I would not force myself on you. My honesty is the least I can give you, for all you've done for me."

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that the man let the subject lie.  Solas was an enduring mystery, a fascination, one of the few that remained to him.  That he remained unknown to him was as frustrating as it was alluring, yet so long as there was something yet to learn, there was hope. They broke their fast in a predictable silence as he let his mind wander, taking a mental inventory of all the things he needed to remember.

Most of the minor days were a blur at this point. Only the milestones and mistakes stood out. At Solas' repeated direction and his own need to fill the space with something meaningful- he had spent most of his days rather well. Learning all he could of the world, the Inquisition, it's people. He knew almost everything about them that they would willingly divulge- and a few things they wouldn't, their hopes, their hurts, aspirations and flaws. Solas alone kept his secrets, though the man had a wealth of other knowledge only possible by his long life. Often they traded words in secret, the things Nadas'an learned for the way the world used to be. He studied in the history of the major nations of Thedas, developing an intimate understanding of their motivations, their conflicts, their cultures. He picked Dorian's brain about Tevinter, Cassandra's about Nevarra and her travels. Varric had occasionally relented to discussing the Carta and the Merchant's guild- though he spoke much more lightly of Kirkwall. Vivienne regaled him at length of the high society of Orlais and the intricacies of circle politics. He greatly admired the tenacity of the Iron Lady, despite her conservative stance on mages. She'd fought tooth and nail for her dignity, her position, and if he ever made it out of this day she would have his unending thanks. She had given him the perfect tools to charm the breeches off Empress Celene's impending ball, or failing that- the exact manner in which to thoroughly tear them apart.

Many days were spent sinking to Sera's level, much to the chagrin of everyone else. Her humor was a rare light to the monotony as they set chaos loose upon the fortress. She inevitably warmed up to him again each day as his ideas for pranks grew more elaborate. There was a depth to her, a pain she tried to bury hidden in a small painted box- he quickly developed a soft spot for her antics as a distraction they both sorely needed. Her breeches were in the right place, so to speak. He sometimes left cookies for her when she wasn't looking, knowing that small flash of vulnerability, that dramatic pull on her heart well enough to draw it from memory. If only his journals didn't reset in the retelling.

He had hoped early on to learn about the Grey Wardens from Blackwall... but for an accidental discovery among Leliana's reports. Thom Rainier was no Grey Warden, and he didn't particularly care about the nature of the man's deception- but it meant he had little to offer him. Any time he tried to get the 'warden' to open up about his past he'd grow evasive, and cluing the man in that he _knew_ \- never ended well. Leliana herself was a far greater wealth of information on the topic, having spent a great deal of time with the Hero of Ferelden. He'd often managed to coax songs forth from her days as a bard, often enough to shock the rotunda as his rich voice joined her sweetened lilting tone- the words he now knew by heart. Those days were always un- _yet_ -expectedly sweet.

Almost as sweet as his days spent with Maxine had been. She was a sweet-hearted elven maiden who had stayed on after the minor noble she had been serving had a crisis of faith- joining their ranks. She had taught him an entirely new language of love- Orlesian- _among other things_. He had cherished her and the subtle fire that burned brightly in her, reveled in sweeping her off her feet anew, but he could not go to her. _Not anymore_. He'd not spent days with her in nearly a year. His attentions far too familiar to explain away, his mind growing too dark to hide. It had broken his heart to stay away, but it had begun to feel _wrong_ using memories she didn't have to win her attention for the day. It was... for the best. Still, despite his distance, lilies would occasionally make their way to her with a quick word to Cole, just so he could see that brilliant smile once more.

In the void she left behind he'd turned to another culture and another bed. Though admittedly, his knowledge of the Qun was far more limited than his intimate knowledge of Iron Bull's proficiency in tying knots. The Qunari played everything but others close to the chest, content to discuss the hidden motivations of their companions far more than his own. Still he'd enjoyed meeting the Chargers again and again. It was otherwise rare to see such fondness radiate from that watchful eye of his. Though, it had been many months since he'd tumbled with the giant as the man now immediately knew something was up- driving his suspicions between them. And he almost missed the sweet ache he once walked away with- only to have it reset with waking. A different ache inevitably taking its place.

Not long after that, one by one the others began to catch on more frequently- Suspicions surfacing like weeds. His change in personality, carefully tended over the past year and a half, had appeared overnight to them. It had led to a particularly vile day in which he'd finally been imprisoned and smited over fears he'd been possessed. He couldn't quite look at Cassandra and Cullen the same way since.  It was a scenario that was becoming more and more uncomfortably frequent as the day persisted.

It was the beginning of bitterness in his heart and each day that vine grew new leaves- ever reaching to choke out the sun. He was at a loss with how to stop it.

He was aware Solas was likely watching him silently fret with his memories, the man's eyes often followed him these days. Though, he wasn't quite sure what it was he said to provoke the interest. Perhaps he'd just not noticed it before, or perhaps the look on his face, the dark cloud that hung over him was just that telling. A long drawn out sigh left him as he slid sideways to the dust covered stones, delicate motes spiraling upward in the dim candlelight. He watched them drift back down in precisely the same carefree dance as the snow that would inevitably fall when the sun was a hand's breadth from setting. The falseness of the cheer in his voice was painfully obvious, " _Only_ 418 days to go." He counted the march of heartbeats before Solas' usual declaration... but it never came. He looked up expectantly, not expecting to be pinned by the intensity of the man's gaze.

At length he said the words himself, stumbling slightly over the tightening knot in his throat- "Only if I fail."

 

Nadas'an had left the study shaken, without another word, assuming Solas would linger there in his sudden silence. He was right to suspect it would be a useless day. Briefly entertaining thoughts of ending it early, but for the way the last had ended... He couldn't bring himself to try. He wandered the fortress, listless, pacing fretfully by the time he reached the great hall. Ignoring the looks levied his way, ignoring the questions at both his lack of vallaslin and his darkened demeanor.  Trying to parse the whereabouts of several hundred people at this hour, he attempted to think of a place no one would find him. He waved off Varric's concern- It didn't matter. Nothing he did mattered. He hated days like this.

Inevitably his hurt drew Cole. The spirit was always confused at the depth of pain, that to _him_ , suddenly appeared each day. The unexplained depth of memory that shouldn't exist. Each day it took the spirit longer to understand, longer to parse his thoughts all the while muttering to himself. The strings he pulled couldn't help for long, and the pearl of pain he bore only grew heavier each day. By the time this ended it would surely be a lodestone of hurt. Yet, he found comfort in the company, no questions, no concerned looks, just _compassion_. Cole was very dear to him.  He had often shadowed the spirit boy on his rounds to help hurts. The shade of a man had been immensely helpful at informing his understanding of his companions... Though his words often stung. Lately his pain seemed to burden the spirit, hurting him. So Nadas'an rarely indulged in his company of late, carefully bundling up his pain to make it less.

It didn't always work.

At length Cole bade him to follow, and he did, knowing where he would lead. It still helped, even if only a little.

 

He lay hidden in the deserted garden, his favorite spot behind a bush, concealed from prying eyes next to the gazebo. He wondered how long he could indulge this time, knowing Cole was busy subtly diverting people away from the gardens for a time, before heading off to tell the advisors that he was sick. It wasn't like the spirit to lie, but then- it was no longer very far from the truth.

Dozing in and out of conscious thought, he waited for the inevitable alarm to rise when his advisors discovered he wasn't truly in his room, suffering from some ailment. They would inevitably sweep the fortress, and a sharp-eyed scout named Charter would inevitably be the one to find him.

Yet, when he next woke- the sun high overhead beginning its slow descent, it was not to frantic shouts and a flurry of activity. The garden was dead silent of the influence of people, no idle conversations, no prayers and no whispers. Not even the fervent yet hushed coupling of the soldier and the cleric one bush over. Only the softly spoken words of leaves courting the slight breeze. It garnered the full spectrum of his waning attention, it was _new_. And _new_ was rare. _New_ had been dangerous lately.

He strained his ears, not daring to move, and a slight cadence of measured breaths caught his notice. His own breath hitched with the realization he wasn't alone. His watchful guardian softly made himself known.

"Lethallin."

He let loose the breath he'd been holding, lending an unfortunately breathy quality to his acknowledgement. "Solas."  Not daring to face the man, Nadas'an lay still amid the grasses. Uncomfortable in this sudden stalemate, he scrambled to find the appropriate words to put him back in control of the situation. His mind curiously blank as the faint sounds of the training yard drifted up over the wall. Any second now Krem would drop his shield. A carefully measured breath later and Iron Bull bellowed out his disappointment.

He grasped at his own dropped shield of lingering humor, " _So_... Come here often?"

The slightest snort set a quick smirk on his face, yet the man's deadpanned reply quickly took it away. "You tell me."

Nadas'an sat up, swiveling to face the Mage even as he crossed his legs to mirror the man's pose. He gazed at the calm expression he wore, deeply envious of its ease. His reply had been weighed down in connotations beyond the jest- it appeared Solas wished to talk. "This is a first, truthfully. But at a guess- you're not here for my jokes."

Solas nodded.

He sighed, "Then you wish to hear about yesterday?"

"If that is what is bothering you, yes."

He deflated with his exhalation, flopping back to the grass. Surprised once more as Solas moved to his side, settling back down to keep his face in view. Leaning back against the garden wall, his gaze was... Soft, searching. He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose, obscuring the sight as he attempted to ground himself more surely than he'd already done.

"Yesterday was shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nadas'an - The inevitable place.
> 
> That could go so many ways- I imagine that the Elvhen could have meant it as slang for Uthenera. Once he meant it as Duty, Currently I mean it as Death.
> 
> Also- forgive me, ~~my _Antivan_ is far rustier than my _Orlesian_. My grammar/pronoun use might be shit.~~ So, I'm making up my own 'Antivan'. It's going to be a semi-incoherent amalgam of Spanish and Italian rather than committing to one or the other. It'll be used as sparingly as most people use Elvish, with translations in the notes as needed. 
> 
> *Sided with Templars, didn't actually see the future in Redcliffe- just general time magic fuckery.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Slightly NSFW sketch of Nadas'an~~ (Better one at the top!) | [Ever-changing album of screenshots](http://imgur.com/a/F0VES)


	2. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painful parallels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, completely serious on scaring you away. Temporary semi?-graphic character death and suicide. Mild blood/violence etc. But there is a bit of fluff at the end and implied smut. Somewhat a consolation, I hope. I was clearly crazy pairing two elf mages, if you can't tell who I'm referring to let me know- I'll try and fix it.
> 
> If there is a line here I've probably crossed it. My mind is a roulette of bad ideas and I have no one to tell me 'No'.

The name he hid from them all bore an irony he couldn't ignore- and the name he had given them only felt more poignant by the day.

Nadas'an had drifted through the world barely marking the earth with his steps. It had been a surprising change to be a part of something so monumental, thrust into the center- _their leader_. Perhaps that was the dream, and this waking monotonous hell was his true reality.

He had once been reserved in both his affections and his leadership. Quiet, and watchful. The roulette of duty, being shuffled around from clan to prisoner to Herald to Inquisitor was just another move in his restless life. Nadas’an had been born to a Dalish Clan in the harsh outskirts of Antiva and he knew the stretch of land between the Weyrs and the rolling hills of the Green Dales better than any city. Yet, for reasons he hadn’t grasped at the time, he’d been traded at Arlathvhen to Clan Alerion, and from there to Clan Lavellan. He had thought the reluctance to keep him stemmed from the rumors of his clan’s violence, it was true to be honest, but not out of malice. The other clans traveled lands green and rich with life, his clan’s harsh nature stemmed from their harsh environment, it was necessary to survive.

It had taken him until the harsh wake up that was Minaeve to realize precisely why _he_ was the one they shuffled off to the Conclave- and he wasn’t sure if his fate had _ultimately_ been much kinder than hers. She had been faced with the cruel nature of their people early on and was stronger for it, while he... never knew if he would remain intact to see _tomorrow_. He had been _naive_. He had been dutiful, he had been guided by beliefs, and he had an unfailingly buoyant humor. He was now painfully bereft of it all, and in spite of his many exploits both willing and _un_ \- seldom did he ever feel so _used_. His people believed in lies, his faith in them and his gods had long since crumbled down around him even before Solas' overlapping explanations. His humor had grown dark or only surfaced shallowly to drown the pain that lurked in his depths. He harbored concerns... He harbored hate, and he bore the weight of it all quietly- just as his mother clan had borne their rumors. Even if he could trust himself to willingly confide in others, no one else remembered. Solas was easily the closest thing he had to a confidant, but despite the man's knowledge and power, his words might as well repeatedly fall on deaf ears.

_Yet_

He never could deny answering his questions.

Which brought him to yesterday.

~~~=~~~

It hadn't been going well.

It was two hours into the morning war meeting to discuss both the looming deployment to Adamant and the Empress’ ball at the Winter Palace. They had suspicions _already_. He'd forgotten how little he knew about either mission, or well, how little he was _supposed_ to know. Without the ability to write anything down and keep it through the retelling it was difficult to keep track of who he had been, and what he had known at the time. In that manner, everyone else knew him better than he knew himself. They were just a year and a half behind. He was still trying to recover from accidentally announcing Leliana’s intel about Adamant’s defenses before the spymaster had gotten the chance when he _knew_ he’d already failed.

Cassandra leaned in to whisper in Cullen's ear, missing subtle by leagues, stern looks settled on their faces. Cullen’s grip tightened on the pommel of his sword, "Inquisitor, are you alright?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"You seem, different. Not yourself."

He tried to wave off the concern, "It is nothing. I did not sleep well."

_Oh if there ever had been a more idiotic thing to say._

Their expressions turned grave.

He stared between them, weighing his options as Leliana’s expression quickly settled in the realm of understanding. Answering their charges and surrendering would likely lead to smiting him for his own good- A good show of faith didn't mean much it seemed when they never remembered. Leliana was always the wildcard, she sympathized strongly with mages, yet even she could not deny the perceived threat. Which side she would come down on depended greatly on the events that preceded it. And it didn't look like he would have her support this time. His jaw set, he did not wish to meekly submit to them today. Josephine spoke tentatively, finally realizing something was off, “Inquisitor?” They tensed at her wavering question and Cullen began to step forward.

Nadas'an bolted out the door.

He dashed through the corridor, turning sharply, rebounding off the wall as he shot down the stairs, shouts and heavy footsteps charged after him.

He heard their orders echoing down the stairs after him, they had split up- and he realized his error. There were only two ways out of the lower level and Cassandra was now rushing through the courtyard to cut him off. He dashed through the kitchen, ignoring the startled shouts from the cooks, and out the other side. His hart was grazing tied next to the stables. He cut the lead, swiftly mounting the creature- startled, it reared and he urged it to calm, digging in his heels as it shot off towards the gate. The sinking pit of anxiety grew as he neared- _he was too late_. Cassandra stood before it with a small band of Templars, her sword bared, the drawbridge nearly raised. He pulled his hart in a circle trying to reassess.

"Let me leave Cassandra!"

"I will not let you use the Inquisitor _demon!_ Stand down!"

"Listen to me, I am no _demon_ -

The first smite slammed into him throwing him to the ground as it destroyed his mana. Ripping at his nerves as the pool emptied, deadening his connection to the Fade. Rage took its place, filling the void as his hart spooked and ran. Had it been the first time he felt the cruel twist then it would have ended right there- they would think themselves successful as he lay weak upon the ground. Full of a sudden care for his wellbeing. But it was _not_ the first and he was _done_ , done with being treated as a bomb that might go off- just because of his magic. Haltingly he dragged himself to his feet, the small knife was in his hand before he knew it, a reflex embedded in his Antivan blood, honed from his relentless training. He tossed it, watching the slow tumble of it end over end as it hastened to end the life of the one who smote him. It sank deep to its hilt in the man's neck, muscles corded against the intrusion before he collapsed gracelessly to the ground in a protest of grinding metal. He barely registered Cullen's angry shout over Cassandra's shocked cry. He spun, seething at the Seeker. " _You!_ How dare _you_?! I did not want this, and still you treat me like a criminal?! _Regalyan_ _would be ashamed of you!_ "

Disbelief and doubt turned to a furious resolve.

She strode forward full of wrath, "Only a demon would know that name!" He felt another null building- and a brief moment of panic gripped him as a Templar placed the cold edge of a naked blade at his neck. The metal helm only enforced the hollow ring of his command, "Stand down _Inquisitor_." He laughed and it was a twisted hysterical thing, mocking the title the man still gave him just as he mocked the man for thinking he was helpless without his magic. The snarl in his voice was darkened with disdain, _"Inquisitor..."_

He turned and sank the thin blade of his remaining dagger in the slit of the man's helm, _“Inquisitor-”_ wrenching the sword from his death-slackened grip. **_“Inquisitor.”_** He turned in time to meet Cassandra's blade. ** _“INQUISITOR!”_**   He forcefully turned her blade as he pressed his attack, “ _I CURSE_ the day you gave me that title _Cassandra!_ ” He parried her formidable counterassault, stepping ever to circle towards her weaker side, and by some shred of luck- she bore no shield. Parry, step, step, parry, attack- he could do this all day and the anger made him sharper than the blades that sang between them. She would slip up soon and he could ransom her life for his freedom. She flagged, her slashes grew weaker, he stumbled on an uneven flagstone. He stopped meeting all her attacks, dodging them instead to conserve his strength, waiting. The gravity of that mistake dawned on him far too late to stop it. A fire began rising in his veins that was neither pleasure nor rage, and _that was dangerously new_ \- he couldn't allow it. Panic quickly rose with the pain. His face contorted as he fought the urge to succumb. A feral scream shook through the courtyard as if he were immolated in truth. The Seeker hesitated for a mere moment as she focused on burning the lyrium in his blood and fearful instinct took over. Wildly slashing down with enough force to turn her blade aside, the edge of his cut lodged high in her throat. He shuddered at the sight as much as the sudden merciful silence in his blood. A trembling exhalation in the fleeting stillness, a chorus of smites engulfed him and his vision swam as he staggered. The Seeker dropped dead to her knees taking his blade with her, and cruel fate returned what he lost- a sharp blade pierced his side. He chuckled weakly around the shaft of metal driven straight through his lung, _he should have worn armor today_. Felt more than heard, Cullen's voice laden with curses growled in his ear- far away, incoherent. He vaguely registered the growing commotion, the blade slipped free and he collapsed to his knees- reflecting darkly the pale repose of Cassandra as his life joined hers to darken the ground.

Footsteps thundered, sprinting towards the sudden maelstrom that tugged at his senses. It felt like the Fade was here- living breathing in the upper courtyard. A spell gripped him, healing the worst of his wound. A barrier settled over him and he spared a last look at what he’d wrought, memorizing the mistake, the frozen fear in eyes that no longer saw what he was capable of. Slowly rising once more, clutching the half healed wound, he staggered away unhindered. The courtyard went silent for a moment as cold spread outwards- or perhaps it was only through him. Someone had helped him? But why? Who would care? Some rebel Mage tired of oppression? He didn't know, but he was also long past the point of caring- _this day needed to end_. Staggering through the kitchens once more as the calm shattered, winds rose up in ferocity outside even as the servants deserted before him. He was leaving a bloody mess in his wake. Paused against a pillar, he fought to catch a breath that was maddeningly out of reach, yet no one followed him. The world tilted dangerously as he felt for the dagger hidden- tied on a tenuous string against his chest. It was a small thing, for mercy, for last resort should he be captured, _tortured_.

_This qualified._

His fade sense was still dulled save for the pull of it in the courtyard, perhaps a Fade rift had opened here? It shouldn't be possible- not with the magic this fortress held. The anchor sparked weakly at the thought. It didn't matter, this day was over the moment he'd killed that Templar, the moment he'd… killed _Cassandra_. _It wasn’t supposed to happen like this._ He should have let them kill him- but they wouldn't have. Not unless he struck first. His fight had been reflexive after that, shrouded by rage. Perhaps he truly was the demon they thought he was.

The wound at his side reopened with pain as he slowly ascended the stairs. Josephine's scream barely registered past the cold buzzing in his ears. He forged on, heaving open the door to the great hall to see that it was packed with those that sought refuge from the fighting that still seemed to be raging outside. The windows of the hall had darkened against the storm, and the deep booming growl of the wind shook the stones. They shied away as he passed through them. Faces half familiar in the dark corners of his perception. He slumped down upon the gilded throne he hated so fervently. It took too much effort to breathe so he took in the hall instead, surveying the poor unfortunate followers unlucky in their chosen leader. Varric was standing on his table at a remarkable loss for words, Compassion was rocking back and forth under it- hands clamped firmly over his ears. He spared a thought of apology, _forgive me Cole, it will be over soon_. Maxine was huddled in the opposite corner with the cooks. The look of fear in her brilliant eyes wounded him further and he quickly averted his gaze. Dorian was so perfectly statuesque in his shock that it set the hysterical laugh rolling broken from deep in his punctured lung. The wet wheeze of it pained him as he only laughed harder. A small spark of mana slowly returned in his madness, the small sigh of the Fade gave him unwelcome comfort as he snapped the string to free his blade. Solas burst through the rotunda door just as he sank his blade into his throat, a careful cut on one side, then the other, skipping over his windpipe so they could all hear how far he'd fallen. The collective intake of breath did nothing to drown out the cutting edge of his amusement.

He barely felt the soft touch of Solas' spell and he used the last shred of his ravaged mana to dispel the attempt to save him.

The look on the mage's face as he dashed to the throne... hurt more than all the blades that came before it.

And of that day he knew no more.

 

_The day should have gone differently._

It had been a month since he pretended it was a normal day, attempting to coax events to play out as they should. It had been time for another- to gauge their reactions to see if he could manage to convince them he was the same man. It wasn't likely, but he had felt the need to try. The last two times had been similarly disastrous if not an order of magnitude less painful, and he was reluctant to attempt again any sooner. There was still time to figure out how to convince them he wasn’t possessed.

He quietly recanted to Solas all of things he thought were supposed to happen, breakfast, running into the Commander, the lengthy war meeting, and then Josephine would ask about a border dispute between Tevinter and Nevarra. Then came training with Cassandra and Bull, a stolen moment for lunch, judgement of Crestwood's mayor, a lesson with Solas. Sera would inevitably prank him via a bucket of water tossed over the railing when he went to see Bull, dinner in the tavern, and if all went well- Varric would ask if he wanted to play wicked grace with them. It had been a long time since it worked out that way.

He’d long since thrown his arm over his eyes to hide his grief, missing the pained look as the other elf quickly ran a thumb under his eye. Solas had been quiet for quite some time, and it prompted him to risk a look, peeking out from under his arm. The pale elf looked a shade paler than he’d seen him in what could easily amount to years now, his gaze distant. There was a slightly raw quality to his expression, and he wondered if perhaps the elf now thought him the monster the others had yesterday. He dared to gently grasp the mage's knee in reassurance, his gaze brought firmly back to him, “I… am sorry if that was, unpleasant to hear.”

Solas’ reply was hushed, "You have nothing to apologize for, Nadas'an." The man laid his hand lightly over his before he had the chance to pull away. The warmth that existed in his touch was surprising. It had been ages since Solas had touched him and he half expected the man to be as cold as his often distant demeanor. It was a pleasant thing to relearn. He let it anchor him and despite the dismissal, he got the feeling the Mage appreciated his apology all the same.

“You often ask me what I learned the day before. Well, yesterday I learned a lot.”

“I learned anyone is capable of anything with the right motivation. Including me. That was a hard lesson to learn Solas, to see my friends turn their blades on me out of fear... There was no way not to come out of that changed. What's worse is I _defended_ myself, I struck them down- and I've trained with them all! I knew exactly how to kill them, when I should have let them kill me. _I_ have to live with the memory of my blade in Cassandra's neck, and she will never have to know how many times she's watched me smited, how she tried to strike me down all because I spoke the wrong words.”

“I just…” A long sigh left him, drawing the hand not gently held in place on Solas’ leg back over his eyes, shutting them to the green glow that consumed his field of view. “I do not wish to be at their mercy again. I should have dealt with Alexius instead of addressing the Templars. Had they never seen what that demon was capable of, had they not carried the fear that something may try to masquerade as me- maybe things would be different. Sneaking out as many mages as we could… was not enough. _I thought it could wait_ , he seemed comfortable in his stolen throne. _I thought I had time_.”

Solas' grasp tightened perceptibly at the admission. “That lesson is never kind and few survive…” The man trailed off, and he didn’t have the heart to correct the statement.

Nadas'an's weighted sigh was all that broke the silence for a time, chancing another glance from under his hand as he finally spoke. "For what it's worth, I am sorry you had to see that, and for once I am glad you don't remember. That apology _is_ warranted, the look on your face... It was… difficult to endure."

The gaze Solas leveled him with was an interestingly mismatched reaction. It was full of carefully weighed thoughts, hesitation, some internal debate. Yet as the Mage spoke it was the sensation of long fingers threading through his own that drew his undivided attention.

"What if... I agreed?"

He'd answered automatically "To what?" Before he realized it was not something the man had ever asked him before- _in any context_. His full attention snapped back up to the elf's face, grounded under the full weight of his scrutiny.

"To lay with you."

He couldn't help the intake of breath. Rapidly reassessing the mage, yet there was no guess, no idea at where this conversation would go. He had even less of an idea how the man who constantly rebuffed his advances, who was now holding his hand- running a thumb over his knuckles, would jump from nothing to... Was it a distraction from his thoughts? Was it out of pity? He sprinted from thought to thought, before the logistical nightmare he lived in presented itself once more- it was too easy to forget in the undeniable comfort of the other man's presence.

"Would you regret it? Do you know yourself well enough, that should you find out after you forget- that you wouldn't blame me? Are you truly willing to lay with someone as broken as I? Especially after what I've just told you?"

Solas tilted his head, considering, "I could easily ask the same of you. Would you regret it if I took you, claimed you? Even knowing who I am? I would mark you, and I would not share you with another. Would you regret what you may learn of me after, and in the days to come? Will you blame me for the things I will do to you?"

Nadas’an was aware his jaw had dropped, and he was aware no words flowed forth. The confidence the elf carried at the word _‘will’_ set anticipation rushing through his veins. And he was suddenly stricken with a blush he'd not been capable of in many months and yet the man did not relent his penetrating gaze. Distraction or not, it was one he could sorely use. He finally managed to shake his head. "I would not regret it."

There was a rare smirk on Solas' face as he finally answered, "Then I do believe you said I would not forget it."

It provoked an honest laugh from him as the Mage stood, pulling him up by the hand. "Try not to look so pleased with yourself Nadas’an. They are, for the moment, convinced that you are truly ill. To appear otherwise will provoke questions." It only set him laughing harder as he stood with Solas’ help and the strength held in the grasp surprised him. There was apparently much more he could learn about the man than he had assumed.

"Well, I have never seen their reaction to having you retire to my room- it would be informative, would it not?" The man shook his head ruefully, yet the hold on his hand lingered as he maneuvered under his arm, bearing his weight as if he actually was sick. The fledgling blush spread like wildfire as the mage's arm wrapped securely around his back. Solas hummed approvingly, "Good, they will think you have a fever. Hunch over."

He was speechless as the man led him through the great hall, whispers wondering what ailed him followed them as they stepped through the door leading to the tower. _Oh if only they knew._

The door was firmly shut behind them, separating them from the world. The Mage gently relinquished his hold and it took all Nadas’an had not to chase his retreat up the stairs, to press him up against the wall- To beg the man for his declared favor. He endeavored to restrain himself, it seemed he missed intimacy more than he thought. Solas strode into his room with a confidence he suddenly couldn't match. His gaze lingered over the physical evidence of his instability, the covered standing mirror in the corner, the piles of messy reports strewn over his desk, his armor that lay in a heap on the couch, and embarrassingly- the wanton disarray of his sheets.

"Ah, I swear I… uh wasn't _always_ this disorganized, nothing I do changes it. Everything always ends up where I left it a year and a half ago-” He absently rubbed the back of his neck as Solas glanced back at him curiously. “We had just gotten back from the Western Approach... I think."

"Why cover the mirror?"

"I didn't like what I saw in it."

The man turned to him, naked interest gracing his features, "What did you see?"

"Someone who had lost their way." Nadas'an sat heavily on the edge of the large bed, sinking down, pretending the thick Orlesian carpet held more interest than the inquisitive mage. "I can't even blame that on being trapped, I've been lost for quite some time Solas." He busied his idle fingers in the loose braid he wore, unraveling the binding, combing through his dark locks. "I am unwanted by my people. And I am only wanted here for the anchor, after my usefulness has run its course I will be left with nothing, if I survive." The edge of the bed dipped down as the elf sat next to him.

"You will be left with a choice. You could go anywhere, set your talents to anything. It is not nothing lethallin."

He sighed. "How does one settle down from such things? I don't want to rule anything. I don't wish to lead- but how can one go back to what came before? _I cannot_. What options are there for one whose people would balk at accepting a so-called _shemlen_ herald, an elf who is disgusted by the mere thought of wasting away in the wilds? I could never be content leading the next generation of superstitious elves. So am I to turn my back on my people or am I to liberate the alienages? The slaves? Uproot everything they know in chaos just because I think their lives could be better elsewhere? If they desired freedom that would be one thing...” A deep groan escaped him as he ran a hand down his face in frustration. “I would be alone, and make no mistake- I am trapped by more than just this day. They will never believe me. And from what you've told me- your people, wherever they linger, won’t accept me either."

A soft hand grasped his chin, lightly turning his face. Solas bore a deeply searching look. Nadas'an's lips parted absently under the scrutiny, and the man's gaze immediately dropped to them. He watched Solas' tongue dart out, such a small gesture- one he'd seen the Mage affect countless times absently in concentration, yet this time was… different. _Deliberate._ The heat of anticipation rose instantly to tinge his ears as that flash of pink laved the full bottom lip of the elf he was now certain was teasing him on purpose. The mesmerizing spectacle withdrew as Solas leaned in. His eyes fluttered shut at the softness of the man's kiss, a slight hunger gripped him as he opened to him with a willing moan. The elf's clever tongue delved to meet his, twisting him into knots with ease. The sweet taste of honey lingered as Solas drew back, the sharp bite of teeth on his lip. His breath grew ragged under the other's gaze. To see desire worn so well on that calm face, it set him alight with a pervasive need.

"There are plenty of things to live for, Nadas'an."

The color had returned to the Mage with interest, and he couldn't help but be fascinated with this new turn of events. Perhaps not all things still new to him spelled trouble. Then again... The man _was_ Fen'Harel. "Hmmm, I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that... I may need another demonstration."

That delightfully pointed look resurfaced, “I did not take you for a slow learner.” His indignant reply was swiftly cut off as the man obliged. Deft fingers entwined in his hair, a deep kiss swallowed his sounds. A solitary soft moan from Solas nearly undid him as the mage withdrew once more.

He sat transfixed as the man began to undress, pulling his tunic over his head, folding it with care before setting it aside. Fingers hesitant to divest the weighted burden he wore, before the wolf jaw pendant also came off. Nadas’an was suddenly unsure of what he should be doing, blurting out, “Are there rules?”

Solas faced him with a delightfully arched eyebrow, “Rules?”

“Well, ah Bull always had-”

Solas rounded on him- a grasp firm around the back of his neck, swiftly pinned back against the bed. The full press of the elf's body grinding atop his own set a startled moan from him as sharp teeth found his neck in brief chastisement. " _One_. Do not mention your past lovers, and do not take another." Solas pulled back fixing him with a formidable gaze, "Do you agree?"

His broad smirk rose to meet it. "I agree not to take another lover, and to never mention any I've taken in the past. Though, should I call you Solas or Fen'Harel?"

The man's expression darkened as teeth bared slightly. "I would answer to either, however- I answer more harshly to one of those, and you may not enjoy the consequences." It sent a shiver through him as the wolf leaned back in. Nipping up the shell of his ear, “Do you consent to what I offer? To be marked, to be mine?”

His breath hitched at the implication and he reveled in the unexpected passion the man was capable of. None of the sweet innocence of Maxine, none of the rules of Bull, none of the awkward ‘after-guilt’ of Dorian. There was an unrestrained quality to Solas every one of his other encounters had lacked. It set him wanting just as potently as the weight that pinned him, and he knew then- he wouldn't be satisfied any other way. He waited until the Mage pulled back to receive his answer, expectantly, "I consent to be yours Solas, and all that it entails." Solas shivered slightly with his answer, his expression slackened with his nearly inaudible moan. Before he had more than a moment to process the shift, the wolf descended on him once more.

The kiss from before had been sweet, the kiss that now consumed him was savage, desperate and he lost himself willingly to the dominance of the elf. That Solas was already fully hard pressed against him was astonishing, and _exceptionally_ arousing- to know he wanted this, and it wasn't out of pity. He came alive as his own arousal had him quickly responding.

~~~=~~~

They lay sated with only the sounds of quiet breathing to break the soporific silence in the wake of their efforts. The wash of Solas' breath down the back of his neck warmed him just as well as the full press at his back, just as well as the skilled fingers that stroked long lines down his chest. Solas was of a height with him, yet not nearly as muscled as he had become, and the man seemed to have a fascination with his toned form. Still, there was a strength in the pale elf's lean form that demanded obedience and he was more than willing to comply. The man had been uncommonly skilled, each thrust hit him just right, each caress deftly wound him up, and the heated words that spilled from his lips left him breathless. He had not lied, there was no regret to be had in what they shared, if there was any- _it was simply that he hadn’t convinced the mage sooner._ Solas nuzzled his face deeper into his hair, a small groan against his neck. It was that small break in the quiet that gave him the courage to unburden his mind.

"Would you truly be willing to lay with me again? How could I convince you… Well, _tomorrow_?"

He shivered as Solas sucked the tip of his ear, a much lighter bite placed there than all that had preceded it. The man certainly hadn't lied about marking him, he wore a mantle of bite marks down either sides of his neck, trailing lower. Solas withdrew his teeth to answer with a heated whisper- soft lips brushing against his ear, "I claimed you, Nadas'an- I will lay with you again. Tell me the truth, lethallin. I will believe you." A harsher bite found his neck once more, a growl that rumbled deep, and he cried out softly, tensing weakly against the man's grasp. The rough swipe of his tongue soothed away the edge of pain. "I will warn you Nadas'an, I will not take kindly to it if you take another. I meant what I said, I will not share."

A soft moan left him as Solas' efforts stirred the heat in him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If for whatever reason you're still reading- one: thank you, and two: chapters will be nicer for a bit, depending on how long I drag this out. 
> 
> Most likely actual smut next chapter.
> 
> Oh Nadas'an my darling, you have no idea what you've agreed to.


	3. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five hundred and eighty-three days, and yesterday was the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wish I could just write something normal, but then I remember I don't even know what that looks like.
> 
> Sooo, this is going to read like sexgod!Solas for a bit but there's a specific reason for it. - that's me warning you for explicit smut in this chapter.
> 
> Oh my god can I do song stuff? I'm doing song stuff it's too perfect.  
> Nadas'an - [Shots - Imagine Dragons [Remix]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcHJtgljXEo)  
> Solas - [I Bet My Life - Imagine Dragons [Remix]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zz_jh8Mr33E)

Before Nadas'an succumbed to sleep most days he let his mind wander, a daydream of sorts. A small respite to indulge in to make up for the absence of dreams in his deadened sleep. It was a small stab at what he had once been to stave off the ever growing fear of the void that met him in rest. And such a deeply primal fear it was. Despite knowing dwarves never dreamed, the comparisons drew his thoughts to tranquil instead.

Yet, in the arms that held him the fear grew less and he found himself remembering the dream that had originally set his attention firmly if previously unrequitedly on the elf softly snoring at his back.

Haven, the reflection of it as pristine as the snow crowned slopes of the vast points of stone that sought to encircle the sky. It had been empty, silent save for the slight crunch of snow beneath familiar steps. That they had been the only two people in the once busy refuge immediately drew his attention to skepticism. Yet it all fell away as he listened to the dreamer Mage speak of things that had come to pass. Words deftly chosen, he got the impression the man was imparting his respect, and though Nadas'an had been no stranger to random uncomfortable praise for his flailing against fate- Solas' words struck him unlike any other. The naked eagerness to his honesty had been as new as the territory of such a dream, the openness of the man's gaze laid him bare. He wasn't sure precisely how he changed everything but the wording hooked him, a blush rising with his heart rate. He had stood embarrassed, barely able to meet Solas' eyes as he thought unwisely of what it might be like to kiss lips that said such reverent words. The impressions of his naive desire that would have been much more difficult to divine in waking, held no such restraint here.

A soft sound of the dawning realization fell from the man's lips even as his eyebrows rose skyward. Nadas'an turned away mortified, his hands covering his face, an apology ready to cast out upon the slight breeze.

A gentle hand at his elbow simultaneously had him turning and meeting the elf's intense gaze. A pale blush hidden amongst the sea of freckles could have easily been attributed to the cold if not for his response. "Such a desire is nothing to be ashamed of Nadas'an. Perhaps it is best discussed after you- wake up."

_And he did._

_~~~=~~~_

Nadas'an woke with the lingering memory still on his mind. Sleep was but the blink of an eye. And though thankfully he always woke rested, it didn't change how unnerving it was to feel as though not much time had passed once he closed his eyes at night. He peeked out from beneath his hand, the helm wasn't there... He couldn't even remember if he placed it there the day before. He sighed, letting himself linger over the conversation he'd shared with Solas once he'd woken up from their shared dream so long ago.

He remembered how he paced his room, high on anxiety, at a loss for how to approach the elf. It had been the middle of the night, and any hope of settling his mind to return to sleep had been long abandoned. It was one of the few things from before the curse he remembered with stark clarity- the strangeness of the dream, the way the moonlight reflecting off the glacier bestowed a cold glow across his room, the nervous roil of his stomach.

He'd had... Exploits with others before, but his forced confidence in that area was stripped from him, leaving him uncomfortable in his honest inexperience. He wasn't sure what it was about Solas that was... different. Though no one had ever spoken of him in such a way, bereft of faith or platitudes to get at some favor. He'd worried he had read the man wrong, that perhaps he would not welcome such attention.

Just before he managed to wear a path in the carpet a quiet knock at his door halted him, and he strained his ears wondering if he'd imagined it. It quickly repeated. It was highly unusual for anyone to bother him this late, and worried it was some emergency he'd dashed to the door half-dressed in only a pair of loose linen pants. What he did not expect as he flung the door open wide was Solas, standing there calmly with his hands clasped at his back. A curious expression donned the elf's face as he carefully assessed him, a rather lot of him.

They stood in their stalemate for seconds that stretched to minutes, the rise of the small smirk that faced him prompted him to ask, "I'm not still dreaming am I?"

"I am reasonably certain we are awake, Nadas'an. May I come in?"

Mortified anew at his lack of manners he beckoned Solas in, carefully closing the door still in a state of disbelief. Drifting up the stairs after the confident stride of the other man, he grabbed the shirt abandoned upon the couch before he'd slept, pulling it on in an attempt to not feel quite so bare before the Mage. The Mage who promptly settled down on his couch making himself comfortable. He hesitated, provoking Solas to wordlessly gesture to the other end. He chuckled lightly at being invited to sit in his own room, ultimately complying anyways.

They had talked for hours well past moon set, leaving only the light of his fire to illuminate the words that passed between them. Solas readily spoke of everything from the Fade and dreams to the nature of the world. He felt he could listen to the man's interesting point of view, his voice, all night and never grow tired. But when his eyelids finally started to grow heavy once more Solas finally came around to what he'd felt of the intent he'd unknowingly shared.

Nadas'an had been thankful the fire had burned low, hoping the dim light would hide his blush even if his failure to meet the elf's stare was far more telling. Yet to his surprise the man didn't seem put off by his interest, merely expressing he would like time to think about it. He could hardly deny such a tentative hope the words cultivated, or such careful consideration that seemed ever increasingly rare in the turmoil of the world.

But that had been long before parade of dead that was Crestwood, long before he met Hawke in the Western Approach, long before his days became consumed with battle plans and troop movements. Nothing further had happened. Solas hadn't brought it up and he had been too afraid of pushing the issue- and then he changed in the retelling.

_But now..._

 

He sighed as he rolled over casting his arm about, looking for the bedmate that never stayed.

The familiar pain painted his perception, he had woken alone as usual. His low groan severed the still morning, fighting against the stiffness that lingered as he stretched across the sheets, rubbing at the ache in his neck. His eyes flew open at the true source of soreness, the sting that trailed his touch. Disbelief deadened his sense as he looked down one arm, the trail of teeth lingered like nothing else had. He fought to free himself from twisted blankets- cursing their subversion, bolting out of bed trailing half the bedclothes he flew to the mirror, ripping the sheet off of it. His disappointment was a sour pit, settling low in his belly long before the veil fluttered to the floor.

His vallaslin had returned... He was still trapped. But the bite marks- _they had stayed._

"How is this possible?"

His reflection didn't deign to answer, just mockingly mouthed his question. Only one person could feasibly answer- and it was a conversation he was suddenly fearful of. Would the wolf truly believe him? Should he pretend it didn't happen? But then... The marks trailed quite far up his neck, there would be no hiding them. He could heal them... But the thought was inescapably abhorrent. It was a sweet reminder of the passion the Mage had been capable of, and the only mark of passion that had ever persisted. It made yesterday's encounter irrefutably real. If he healed them, would it truly have happened? Caressing the marks with his fingertips, coaxing pain from the wounds to clear his head, to convince himself it wasn't a delusion- he made up his mind. Better to find out his reaction now than to worry. After all the strange elf did agree to lay with him again, there was a chance he'd still mean it. Not bothering to armor himself he quickly dressed, savoring the sharp awareness of each mark as the light fabric settled over him, he took a deep breath and turned towards the stairs.

He crept silently into the rotunda where the Mage sat reclined on his sofa, engrossed in a book as usual. He watched for a moment, debating sneaking back out, not relishing turning the elf's world upside down anew each day, and today would be a new level of unrest. He paced in the doorway unable to decide and then... Solas did for him- not even bothering to look up from his book. "Yes Nadas'an? What do you need?"

He chuckled, a slight sound higher pitched than he wished in his unease, forcing him to clear his throat before speaking. The Mage finally looked up.

"Solas. Do you... _Uh_ have a moment?"

Solas' gaze caught immediately on the trail of bite marks up his neck and didn't stray as he slowly closed the book, abandoning it. The man stood with confusion, stepped close with curiosity, tugged his collar down without invitation, baring the marks to his scrutiny. A mixed look crossing his features darkened to knowing. "How did you come by this? I do not remember placing these here- yet that is... _unmistakably_ my work."

He stared in wordless shock at the man who was entirely too close, entirely too familiar in his touch in the forgetting, loosening his collar further, deft fingers untying the strings that held the neck of his shirt closed, examining his work. Nadas'an briefly scanned the second floor, relieved that it was still early enough that no one lingered there yet. Solas looked up when the cloth would yield no further, a slight heat rising with his eyes, "How far down did I make it?" And he was close enough to see the light dusting of freckles across his pale face, close enough to see the flecks of blue in his grey eyes. Close enough that he could turn and claim that delightful mouth of his. Oh the things that mouth did to him, had done to him.

"Q-quite far," he finally stuttered. A hum of amusement sent a shiver through him as the man's fingers traced the outline of the mark underneath his ear. The heat in the slight touch mixed with the fire in his nerves made it difficult to form coherent thought. His gaze unfocused on the slight smirk, asking the only thing that could survive such a loss in concentration, "You... do not remember?"

Solas shook his head, "No, sadly I do not. Though it appears I was carried away. I do not normally leave them so high. Did I... Was it unpleasant? Was it consensual?"

He shook his head at the first and nodded at the second, aware of the blush rising to darken his ears. Staring in wonder at the man, it was going much easier than he thought it would- and it was almost like being remembered. "It was far from unpleasant." The intense curiosity of the man's gaze turned to a small grin, "Then perhaps you would like to fill me in on how this came to be?"

His steps led by rote towards the study, yet a tug at his elbow had him turning to the stairs to his room instead. He was thankful it was still early- that none of the prying eyes and whispered gossip bore witness to his bared markings, to the liberties he let the man take- steering him towards his chamber. His thoughts reeling with the ease he'd convinced the wolf.

He was released once the lock clicked. Absently ascending the stairs he spared a thought for the motes caught in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, parting chaotically in his wake. Suddenly feeling like he had much in common with their helpless drifting. He chuckled quietly at the thought, that would make the elf who followed him the warm current that directed their movements. Solas hummed interest at his amusement, and it only fed his laugh, "It is nothing, I am just glad I am not a poet."

_It was far too early to confess he already considered the man to be the sun in his day._

He sank down on the couch opposite Solas once more, remembering the last time they had sat here. Yet this time it was he who had the tales to tell. He told the man what he knew, of the curse, of his other name, and what they had done. Carefully watching the myriad of realizations cross the man's face as it took the better part of an hour to even summarize sufficiently all he thought relevant.

At length Solas finally asked, "How many days have you been trapped, and how many have I lain with you?"

"583 days, and yesterday was the first."

Surprise registered there for a moment. "The first? I have not claimed you before?"

He shook his head with a wry smile "No. Not for lack of trying. Though what I don't understand is why the marks linger. No other marks and no other wounds have persisted. Even my vallaslin reappears each time."

Solas tilted his head in thought, "Perhaps it is... due to my nature, the spell would likely not erase my direct physical influence upon you." He paused, shifting uncomfortably. "I had not witnessed it directly, but I have heard of those who used the spell to inflict lasting physical harm on those trapped within it."

He supposed it made sense, yet something within that statement needled at him, moreso than the unusual discomfort the elf betrayed. It was quickly overshadowed by the renewed pang of disappointment that the man did not truly remember. He was forced to put it out of his mind for the moment as the elf launched an entirely new line of questioning.

Solas' smirk grew to a hint of a smug grin as he requested a rather detailed accounting of what they had done. It was embarrassing how bashful it made him to speak of such things, his hand frequently shadowing his eyes, much to the obvious amusement of the elf. And no matter how discretely he tried to adjust himself during such a heated recounting, Solas deliberately failed to conceal his notice. It only further reinforced what he was beginning to learn about the man, he enjoyed watching him squirm- helplessly at his mercy.

"Did I explain to you the significance of those marks?"

He absently caressed his bare neck, feeling the sharp edges, the sweet sting of the wounds there, thinking back through the fog of heated words. "You said you would mark me, and I agreed to it- but no, nothing beyond that."

Solas' gaze grew thoughtful, "I never crafted a vallaslin even though it was often called for by my station. I never marked any unwilling, binding them to my service. Those I did give my favor were lovers. The marks bestowed... Personally. They will scar if left untended. You did not heal them, why?"

He smirked, "I enjoyed the reminder of your company."

"Would you desire my company again?" He looked up and the desire that made its home in the mages eyes was delightfully obvious. A truly genuine smile lit his face, "I would. Though I will have to head off the war meeting in an hour, and I could use something to eat." He paused in thought tapping a finger to his chin, "Hmmm, If I tell them I'm sick they would have you bother me around noon- but if you're already here... Then we may not be bothered until evening when Josephine comes knocking with a stack of the most banal reports I have ever laid eyes on." He laughed lightly, "She doesn't stay long."

A soft chuckle fell from those lips that held his focus, watching them form the words that warmed him. "Stay here. I will arrange breakfast, as well as our solitude."

He watched the elf go, an unmistakable saunter in his step. Slowly righting the chaotic state of his quarters, he waited with a small grin on his face. In his own way the Wolf ensured he would know what had happened. Markings that were significant, telling. He admired the cunning of the man.

 

The silence they shared over their meal was light as the grasp of the day grew to illuminate the room. There was an undeniable anticipation that hung unhindered about them- quiet plans forming thoughts for how the day would unfold. Solas sipped his somnolent tea with a calculated assessing look, while he lost himself in the antipodal dark brew, wondering how it was that such stark opposites attracted. He was often unwisely impetuous, where the elf was seldom anything but deliberate.

"I should have asked, I imagine you've had every combination of breakfast available."

"I have, though I would have eaten anything you put in front of me at that point. I do not normally wait so long to eat."

He quietly adored how the slight smile seemed so natural on the other's face. It was something he hadn't expected from the man. There was something about his demeanor that was entirely comfortable with this strange arrangement. It felt... _delightfully domestic._

It wasn't long before their meal sat finished, and their drinks long drained. Solas reached across the table fingers outstretched, the bare expanse of his palm begging to be held by his. He could hardly deny such an invitation, lightly accepting, placing his hand where it suddenly belonged. He stood, following where the man led, though it seemed there was no destination but a swift embrace.

The first kiss was soft once more, almost tentative as he cupped the man's jaw. Stroking up to outline the edge of his ears. It quickly grew heated, the distance between them growing ever smaller as Solas drew him in. Matching blushes bloomed as hips pressed together, his breath caught in his chest, Solas' teeth lightly pulled at his bottom lip. He smirked against the elf's mouth as it was set free, rocking against the noticeable bulge his tunic hid so well.

 _Oh he could get used to this._ He ran his fingers down the man's neck- delighting in the shiver it produced before fingers wound in his hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. A line of light nips reached his collar, and a small sound of disappointment left him as the Mage began to pull away. Solas lightly fought his ensuing chase, divesting himself of the jawbone, and then the tunic- swiftly followed by the light undershirt. The man's annoyance at his heated interference bore no weight. He finally relented his pursuit, pulling off his own shirt.

Solas' heated look quickly cooled, darkening as brows knitted with a scowl, the source of it lay at the end of his unsettled gaze- the small naked blade hanging from its tether. His lean fingers hesitantly wrapped around the hilt, turning it over in scrutiny. "What is this?" He couldn't meet the man's gaze as it lifted from the blade, clenching his teeth at the reminder he'd donned simply by habit. He quietly cursed himself, he'd left it behind yesterday- wanting distance from what he'd done with it, and he'd never let any of his companions see him with it before. Or at least, _not that they'd remember_. Doing so would only lead to questions he didn't wish to answer, questions that faced him now with growing anger. "Nadas'an, what _exactly_ is this?"

"It..." He swallowed roughly, "Is a blade of last resort, a... _Mi'din'an_."

He flinched as Solas snapped the thread that bound it, striding off with it in a barely contained indignation. He veiled his eyes with the anchored hand, trying to center himself within the green glow as the blade clattered sharply to his desk. The sound of steps marred by anger drew close, and it was the only warning he had before lithe fingers hooked his jaw, pulling his futile hiding place away. The depth of pain in Solas' gaze mirrored his own, a tense stalemate as the elf delved into his eyes- a desperate search for answers to questions he wouldn't ask. Nadas'an swallowed around the bitter catch in his throat, expecting more anger. But then the grip holding him painfully still softened and he was taken aback by the quiet plea that issued forth instead.

"Do not wear it. Ever again. Promise me."

"What if-" Solas snarled " **No**. _Never_ , Nadas'an." He dropped his gaze as Solas' hands fell to bracket his neck, closing his eyes as palms pressed lightly against the frantic pulse fluttering there. "If I have managed this long without taking my own life, despite all I have been through- please Nadas'an."

He pressed his brow to the pained one of the other elf, "Should something happen to me, should I be captured what else can I do?"

"I will not let that happen."

He wanted to believe the sudden conviction in his words- That Solas would come to his rescue, that perhaps being claimed by the wolf meant more than he thought, but reality had long since beaten the knowledge in him... This world was no pretty tale, and not all endings were happy. Resigning himself to the potential for an even unhappier fate than he normally imagined, he made an honest promise.

"I won't wear it again."

He cried out in soft surprise as Solas drew him in once more. A heated kiss, fingers twisting through his hair, pressing a hand to the small of his back- he succumbed to the mage's direction. Dipped back with a thigh pressed tight between his legs as he clung to his lover. The kiss grew desperate in its voracity. It broke off sharply with a moan from the elf, and he let Solas maneuver him to the bed. He sank down heavily on the edge, absently working at undoing his laces as he watched Solas peel off his tightly woven pants. Forgetting his goal as the elf stood bare before him, the beautiful lines of his lean form all drew his gaze to the fully erect cock that quickened his pulse. His own beginning to stir once more after being stifled by that point of pain. His mouth ran dry as Solas sauntered closer a hand casually caressing his bared length, teasing him with the sight, leaning down to tug at his forgotten laces- nipping at his ear. Nadas'an leaned back as the elf bade, lifting his hips as his leggings were pulled free. He didn't have even a moment to consider sitting up as Solas climbed up to pin his thighs, rocking his stiffened cock against the rapidly responding state of his own. Hands that bore half the elf's weight roughly pinned his arms as Solas bent over him to resume the thorough conquest of his mouth.

 

He moaned long and low as Solas slowly entered him from behind, immediately pressing downward against his prostate. The sound it drew from him would have been embarrassing if he wasn't lost to the feel of it. The elf clearly enjoyed the uncontainable noises the effort drove from him, rarely leaving the spot as he thrust shallowly. It took little conscious effort to adjust to the elf's cock. Solas had teased him at length, meticulously prepared him despite his pleas to be fucked as he desired. Even now, the ponderous thrusts were not enough despite it quickly driving him to the brink of release. It made him desperate for more, devolving into broken pleading in words of any language he could grasp. Just as it had yesterday the elf took it as the sign to tease him. Thrusting ever deeper, riling him up- neglecting the release he so desperately sought. He fought to move to take an ounce of control- but then Solas only settled more of his weight over him, whispering debauched praise in his ear. He was at the elf's mercy. His cock trapped hard against his stomach, the pressure was exquisite though Solas thrust into him too carefully, he didn't have enough friction to claim the release he needed. One hand threaded through his as he gripped the sheets. The other wound firmly in his hair, pulling his head back and to the side. Solas paused thrust fully inside him, kissing a line up the back of his neck. He shivered, yet reveling in the feel of being claimed as such was short lived as the heavy throb of his core sent him dizzy with need. He barely endured, panting with the edge of a whine, shaking in his fractured restraint, trying to refrain from the words that would deliver him his desire. And then Solas' low dulcet moan broke him.

He begged, _loudly_ , desperately calling out the man's name, and then his _other_. The change it marked in his efforts was immediate.

Hard thrusts rocked him against the covers, his increasingly insistent moans nearly lost amid the loud slap of hips. The tip of his captor's nose trailed up the back of his neck accompanied with a low throaty groan, followed by a sharp bite. The long sought friction, the pleasure the man's efforts bestowed as he repeatedly thrust against and past the spot that made him an embarassingly wanton creature quickly drove him to the precipice- and tumbling over it. He tensed in anticipation of the rapidly approaching release as Solas drove his hips hard against his ass, holding onto him tight. He cried out his prideful name, fisting his hands further in the covers as he rutted against the mattress, bucking through his release. Solas' panting breath escalated to a low moan as he shuddered hard around the fullness of the elf's cock, teeth at his neck as the pronounced throb echoed deep inside him.

He released a long shuddering sigh, the exquisite tension drained from him beneath the elf who settled over him, a hand still firmly grasping his. He let his mind go blank, focused only on the weight that pinned him, the heat shared between them, the light uneven breaths against his neck. It startled him to realize right then he was... content, happy even, something he'd been barren of for quite some time. The small moments of amusement that sustained him couldn't hold up to the comfort that lived in him now. It lasted for several perfect seconds before his heart promptly crashed back to reality, the light floating sensation of it was suddenly anchored, caught and pulled deep into the ever persistent pit of unease. The lighthearted sentiment readily fed the vines of fear, greedy in their capture of a new prey- what if he lost this? What if one day Solas didn't believe him, or wished to cease what they so tentatively had?

A small kiss pressed to the base of his neck calmed him, another sigh drifting from him with a hint of resignation he hoped went unnoticed. There was nothing he could do about it- he was simply more at the man's mercy than he originally thought.

Solas gradually released him, shifting his weight off as he withdrew. Nadas'an was content to limply lay amid his tousled sheets, his sweat and spend sticking him to the cloth as he watched the man wash meticulously at his basin through heavily lidded eyes.

The languid lull gave way to a light doze and he woke to Solas gently sweeping strands of hair from his face, it seemed the man was not content to let him languor in the wake of his orgasm. Twitching with a chuckle as fingers lightly mapped his hip, it provoked a tortuously deliberate repeat that had him turning over rather than endure the repeat of yesterday's pointed amusement that he was ticklish. Surprised again to see his wash basin balanced in the man's lap. Not sure why he bothered to expect any different. He quietly watched the wealth of focus as Solas washed him, almost ritualistic in his effort. It had been a surprising thing to learn- The care the elf was capable of. And not even Bull had done such a thing for him, _not like this_ , usually content to let him clean himself up.

He wondered quietly what the rest of the day would hold as the basin was emptied and refilled in the small bath. Wondering whether or not he could truly remain hidden in his tower undisturbed. He was lightly shaken from the thought with the sound of glass jars clinking together as Solas picked through the various salves stuffed onto his bookcase. Experimentally opening a few and attempting to divine their contents by smell. "Second to last on the left. The brownish red one. You said Rashvine and some plant I'd never heard of, but that a mix of the vine and equal parts of Salubrious and Dark Embrium was a suitable substitute. To prevent infection but not heal... right?"

Solas chuckled, grabbing the jar, "Apparently I did, yes. Precisely what I was looking for."

He reluctantly sat up as the Mage settled down behind him, allowing Solas to tend to the marks, sucking in a sharp breath, wincing as the salve stung, soft words of apology followed the trail of his fingers.

"Is there anything you have yet to do?"

He chuckled, "More than I originally thought."

He could almost hear Solas' smirk before it sombered as he spoke, "I... have a request."

"Oh?"

"I would ask that you always tell me what has transpired, every morning. We do not always have to repeat this if you do not wish it, but I would like to know first hand. To discover the marks upon you in another setting would not be wise."

Nadas'an nodded, impressed with the man's wealth of forethought, "I usually visit you first most mornings anyways." He thought for a moment before continuing, "Is there a way I can sufficiently shorten my explanation in a way you will believe it?" He winced again as Solas started down the other side of his neck, a small kiss in apology at the back of his shoulder was followed by a thoughtful hum.

"If it plays out as it did this morning and we are alone, call me by my other name. Then tell me of the curse, how many days you've been trapped, followed by how many I've been with you. That should be enough for me to go on, or at least a starting point. I may ask questions, be patient with me."

He nodded carefully not to disturb the painting of his wounds, "You seemed surprised you hadn't taken me before, why was that?"

"Is it not obvious? Perhaps I am... out of practice. I desired you Nadas'an, I had thought I made my interest clear. What stayed my hand, what I needed time to consider was what I kept secret- yet you learned what I am, by your perception, quite some time ago. It would seem only natural to expect that I claimed you sooner with nothing to stand in my way."

"Out of practice was not what I felt. I have _never_ been taken in such a manner."

The healer's hands paused in their effort causing him to turn, catching a wan smile on Solas' face, but it was unexpectedly marred by a veiled expression threatening to surface. It seemed he had treaded on something painful for the man, he fleetingly considered the possibility of a past lover and let it go. Solas had asked him to not discuss his lovers, it was only fair that he not pry. He quickly moved on to avoid drawing attention to the sentiment that puzzled him.

"Would you wish me to return the favor?"

Solas shook his head sharply, "No, I hope you understand I am not comfortable with that, for now."

He shrugged, "Fair enough. There are other things I could do for you." His smirk grew as Solas' attention settled firmly in the present once more. An eyebrow cocked in silent inquiry, he let it hang unanswered.

"Sooo... I'm the maiden in this arrangement?" Solas bestowed him with a particularly amused look- "Maiden?"

He turned back around to let Solas continue his work, "Well the submissive... You know- I never thought to ask, What was it like in Elvhenan? Was this... acceptable?"

The sagacious elf hummed in assent before launching into an explanation in that agelessly knowledgeable tone he enjoyed. "Yes. Though it was not the taboo it often is now- such pairings were frequently the subject of heated intrigue. We did not, however, refer to our lovers as maidens." He shivered as the last mark was tended, a spell carried on the mage's breath settled over his work, a cool soothing sensation soaking into his skin. " _Tenaris_ was our word for the dominant, _teltenaris_ was the submissive. _Asharis_ specifically denoted a female partner, however the terms were not bound by gender. It was not uncommon for individuals to not make a habit of seeking pleasure outside the opposite gender, however long life tends to make one open to... other possibilities."

Solas paused, deft fingers twisting up his hair, tying it out of the way in a loose bun. "Truthfully, I have never performed the role of _teltenaris_ , as befitting my rank it was acceptable that I remain _tenaris_ , to allow otherwise would only invite... exploitation. That is not to say a few did not try."

"Hmmm. I hadn't considered, I apologize."

Solas shook his head, "Old habits, it does not mean I will never be open to the prospect- but perhaps after..."

He palmed his face, finally catching the obvious reluctance, slowly dragging the infernal green spark down his rueful expression. "After you can remember what we do, _yes_ , I understand."

Soft hands settled on his neck, a slight warmth lingering in the wake of the touch as Solas rubbed in long strokes over his immutable claim.  Lightly rubbing the salve into his skin, the elf smoothed it out to dry faster. "How do you feel?"

 _'Amazing'_ came to mind as he slowly hunched over in relaxation, quickly followed by _'sated'_ , _'satisfied'_ , and _'more than a little afraid'_. " _Mmmm_ better than I have in ages, and certainly the best I've felt all week." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Ugh can I even call it a week if it never took place?"

"I knew what you meant. Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No, it... Was... _highly_ disturbing. I told you yesterday and I'm sorry to say I'm glad you've forgotten even that." Solas ceased his efforts and coaxed him back to lean against him, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. It quietly struck him how observant the man must be, to consistently guess correctly what he needed and when. As Solas spoke again his voice was hushed, "If you don't mind my asking, what changed? What convinced me to claim you?"

_He wondered that himself._

"I'm not sure to be honest. The things I told you seemed to upset you. Yet, immediately following my sad tale, you proposed laying with me. I had worried you lay with me out of pity, but well... I don't think pity would have provoked what you did to me."

The hold on him tightened almost imperceptibly, "I can assure you it was not pity Nadas'an."

 

They lay face to face, he stared softly at the man who so carefully mapped his features. Gaze drifting lightly over his face, hands caressing the high arch of his cheekbones, trailing up the shell of his ear. It was a strangely loving act, and he felt as if the elf was trying to memorize him. He lightly wondered why, a small curiosity in the mystery that was Solas- why strive to remember when he couldn't? It was a fleeting thought, and he did not let it surface- content to simply enjoy his strange quest. It dawned on him how odd it must be for him and he was loathe to break the exploratory silence but he felt it wouldn't be unwelcome.

"This must be strange for you."

Solas' eyes shifted down from the scrutiny of the scar over his eye meeting his gaze again. "It is out of the ordinary, but hardly the strangest thing that's happened to me."

He chuckled, "Well, I meant simply that I know much of you, and you are at a disadvantage."

A small smile wrote the elf's lips in a knowing curve, "Is that so? I know more of you than you might guess."

"Oh? _Do tell._ "

"I have dreamed of you, sought memories that know you, spirits that have passed through the line of your life. You are a mystery to many of them, even before the anchor."

_That admission was new to him._

"After our shared dream I watched you closely to inform my decision to pursue you. My path led to many places in search of what I wished to know."

He stared in quiet wonder. That had not been what he expected at all, though it made perfect sense in the terms of the Mage who dreamed with such focus. The admission gave rise to a slight apprehension, the feeling of being laid more bare than his state of undress. "May I ask what you know? How is it you see me?"

A smile reached up to embrace the man's eyes. "I know you are a rare and marvelous spirit. I know you have been dealt a cruel hand, but seldom does it deter you. The strength you carry is rare, to shoulder such responsibility in stride."

His slight grin was more sardonic than he wished to convey, "I am not so sure about taking it all in stride. This has been quite difficult."

Solas lightly shook his head against the covers. "No, the burden of the anchor, the burden of command and what they expect from you. You bear it easier than I expected, this spell that has trapped you has not erased that. It has only... Made it much more difficult. You are not well suited to being idle."

He couldn't contain his rolling amusement at such an understatement. "No indeed I am not."

 

He woke slowly, repeating his usual languid stretch. Shock surged through him to realize he was alone. Panicked he looked to the desk only to realize it was early evening, the sun still in its descent. He breathed a small sigh- he hadn't been prepared to give up this day yet.

He barely had time to wonder where Solas had gotten off to when his door opened, setting loud voices freely echoing up the stairs, "I assure you he is quite ill..." Nadas'an froze before quietly scrambling to drag the covers up to his ears, "-and will not be able to attend reports today."

"May I come in? It will only take a moment to explain the details of the most urgent missives."

"If you wish, though he may not be in a state to retain the information."

He shut his eyes, affecting a pained grimace as they reached the top of the stairs. Forcing himself to maintain the expression as Josephine expressed her hushed breathy concern.

" _Oh_ \- that looks serious! Will he be alright?"

The tray was set down with a slight rattle of ceramic and metal, "It is nothing more than a fleeting sickness, he should be fine _tomorrow_." Fighting the urge to laugh at that terribly loaded wording nearly gave him away as he shook to contain it. Somehow managing to sell his sickness further as a soft sympathetic sound drifted on the ambassador's voice.

 _"Ohhh_ \- well, if he comes around please have him consider these, they are _very_ important."

"I will keep it in mind."

He waited until he heard his door shut once more before looking to see where Solas went off to. Catching sight of him leaning over the railing to make sure Josephine had truly left before taking up the tray. He sat up pulling the covers away, curiously watching the elf settle in at his side. The tray laid out in front of him. There was an edge of amusement in Solas' tone, "It seems you have an admirer."

He didn't bother hide his disappointment from the unnecessary observation. "Do I? It looks like I have soup."

A mildly infuriating grin settled on the man's face. "You are ill, Nadas'an. This should help."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

The elf only deigned to reply with a smirk.

He scoffed, "Some dreadful wolf you are, playing my bed nurse." It earned him a sharp smack in the forehead with the wooden spoon. "Ow- _Hey!_ For a healer your bedside manner is _terrible_." Solas looked at him pointedly, the look only growing sharper as Nadas'an leaned in, unable to keep the grin from his face or the slight waggle from his eyebrow, "...But your bed _middle_ manner is quite satis- _mffphm_ -" Solas promptly stuffed the spoon in his mouth, rolling his eyes, continuing on content to ignore the remark.

"It would perhaps be prudent to... Repeat this until the marks heal, to do otherwise will invite questions."

He freed his source of mutiny from the spoon, "You're just trying to get me in bed again aren't you? What of the scars? Will that not be more... Difficult for others to accept?"

"Hmmm, that is a fair point. I will consider it. And yes, since you asked, I am."

He turned to level the man with an arched eyebrow, "What of the rest of this day then? How would you spend what remains of it?"

"I do believe I said that you are quite ill, Nadas'an. I will have to stay here to ensure you receive the _care_ you _need_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If things don't add up it's because they shouldn't, probably.
> 
> *UGGGHHHH so many typos and open quotations. That's what I get for writing these on my phone and editing them while half asleep.


	4. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day five hundred and ninety-five. Thirteen days since the markings, fourteen spent in Solas' company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the Spatalian, Italish? Whatever. Antivan. Just pretend it's not a completely horrible bastardization. Also, I don't know Italian. Gendered articles will probably be wildly wrong in context. (ie. it should probably be 'la mia speranza' but I'm probably not changing it.) 
> 
> Oh right, explicit smut again. It might be that way for a bit- like any new relationship they're probably going to go at it quite a lot. It won't be every chapter though, eventually, for reasons.
> 
> [Mi hijo, mio mañana, il mio speranza] = My son, my tomorrow, my hope  
> [Hijo de Arlathan] = Son of Arlathan  
> [Maldición] = Damn.

Eyes of molten gold, kind at the corners, as sharp as his own bore into him with the weight of ritual. Hands that healed fell to his shoulders. The smile that spoke the words was sad. The man was his mirror, a glimpse of his future. Finality adorned his every move.

_It was the day he was dead to them until he returned._

_'If' he returned._

"Mi hijo, mio mañana, il mio speranza, this is a gift given to all who come of age in our clan. It is _Mi'din'an_ \- a blade of last resort. The world we live in is unforgiving, it's people unkind. Should you find yourself at their mercy, should you exhaust all attempts to free yourself from their grasp, this is your last chance to die with dignity."

"It is our wish for you to see that world, to wander its ways hoping that someday you return to us with your wisdom. It will not be an easy journey, and you may find much hardship, but it will make you stronger. Trust the pain above all else. There is much in this world to hope for, there are moments of wonder and wisdom in the chaos- find it and come back to us."

"Should you not, should something keep you from your quest- meet your death with both eyes open. Meet your end on your own terms."

"We will remember you."

"Hijo de Arlathan."

~~~=~~~

His keeper's last words to him at Arlathvhen, his _father's_ last words echoed in his mind as he stared upon the sharp token of their parting.

The blade still lay upon his desk, precisely where Solas had left it, the cord still snapped. He stared down at it, hands planted firmly upon the sturdy wooden surface as if it could ground him within this new upheaval, silenced to his bones that such a small thing could carry so much dread beyond its usual connotations. How it could still lay there... Broken. There was something more to this he wasn't grasping. Perhaps there was more nuance to the curse than was known to him, after all he hadn't known the elvhen were capable of physically torturing those trapped within the spell...

A soft gasp stole from his lips as it dawned on him precisely what bothered him about the statement- How could they know the spell had been cast? Would they not be oblivious outside its influence? Casting it again and again each day upon their trapped quarry? How could they affect the reality of the unwilling prisoner from the outside?

He shivered. The morning light became a pale bleak reflection of what it should be. His pulse grew thunderous in his ears, a trapped bird fluttering in the cage of his chest.

_Solas._

He needed to find Solas and he had lingered overlong in thought. The shadows cast an unfortunate hour. The fortress had already begun to wake.

He dressed hastily, leaving the dagger where it lay, bolting out the door as he fought to pull on his shirt and not trip down the stairs. Positions, interactions, the moves and countermoves of the pieces on the board wove through his mind. There were far too many people for his liking in his path. He should have worn armor but there was no time. Taking the stairs three at a time, he leapt down the last set, skidding into the door in his haste. Pausing to grasp at what breath he could, pressed flat up against the iron bound wood, he listened intently to the other side hoping the large thud of his collision had gone unnoticed. Footsteps, perhaps a dozen, leather, metal, no heels clicked against stone, nor the quiet whisk of slippers, no whispers only groggy greetings- The visiting dignitaries had not yet congregated for breakfast.

He could do this. _Quickly._

He soundlessly eased open the door and slipped into the hall.

"Ah- Inquisitor, are you..."  
"Wait ...is _that?”_

He reflexively froze and spun on his heel simultaneously, relegating himself to clutch at the wall to keep his balance. The Commander had halted mid-step in the doorway to Josephine's office- undoubtedly on his way to the meeting in the war room. His mind went blank with fear- _A pain in his side, his lungs failed to draw breath, echoed curses spat in his ear-_ His gaze fixed mindlessly on the half eaten scone held in the Templar's hand. Yet the biscuit had clearly lost the Commander's interest, gaze fixed bewildered just below his face, trailing lower...

_The bite marks._

"Inquisitor? Do I even want to know _uh_... what happened there?"

_Panic flooded him as he fought to stifle the surfacing tremor._ "What? Nothing, no- I- I wasn't here!" He bolted off towards the rotunda, heads turned but subtlety be _damned_. Not today, he would _not_ do this today. Cullen was left stunned in his wake. A chanced glance back as he ducked in the doorway quieted his fear, a shuddering sigh of relief leaving him in a rush as Cullen shook his head with a laugh, mercifully turned and went on about his business. _Good_. He could not afford to get dragged into that abysmal meeting today. He had yet to figure out just how to broach the sudden existence of the markings, and he was in no state of mind to find out their reactions. He hovered in the darkened corridor, eyes cast upward as he neared the rotunda, attempting to count just how many were about to witness what needed to come next. _Too many_. He called out from the doorway in a harsh whisper.

"Solas? _Solas!"_

The man looked up, startled, and the expression only grew in magnitude as he caught sight of the markings once more. The book abandoned, the elf drew close, performing a near repeat of his exploration as all the days before, he gently grasped the elf's shoulders, halting his effort. He lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking of the wolf only to convince the man. _"Fen'Harel please_ , I will tell you everything but first I need to know how the Elvhen casters were able to affect the shemlen trapped within the thousand-day curse."

Fleetingly shocked, distinctly puzzled, a little more than miffed, Solas paused with a deeply significant look before relenting, leading off to settle down on the couch. He hesitated, casting one last look upward, hoping they all had something better to do than watch two elves talk. It was a small hope. Solas stared through him, or rather through his clothes, occupied with following the trail of marks as he settled down at the elf's side. A small smirk rose unbidden, was he really being undressed by the man's gaze? Anticipation settled in his veins, he'd never interrupted that particular routine before, what might follow could be interesting. He shook off the thought- he needed answers not more questions.

"That explains a lot." His attention snapped up to see Solas had ceased his wandering, understanding settled in his expression. "Then, your days repeat?"

He nodded, "Yes, I need to know-"

"-How the Elvhen changed the curse from within, _yes."_

His brow furrowed, Solas had practically spat those words. He hadn't expected that level of vitriol. How had he said it all those days ago? With a manner bordering on embarrassment? Perhaps the wolf was still upset at being interrupted.

"When cast upon one with quickened blood it created a type of dilation of time. The caster was aware of what had taken place, and was able to watch the entire curse unfold in the course of one day, from their standpoint. Though, that is perhaps a poor way to word it." Solas shifted, sliding close enough to him that he could feel the slight sensation of heat against his skin. The elf continued more quietly, "Things were... Different then, magic was different. Time could be experienced at will, slowly, or in the blink of an eye. _Uthenera_ was an example of such. Different regions could also experience time in differing rates, an effect most mages now attribute to torpor and sloth. It is not always malicious."

He sat puzzled, idly parsing the intricate stonework of the flagstones while the elf studied his reaction. That sounded like the Fade, but how? He glanced sidelong at the man. Afraid to face him fully as close as they were- too many would see, it would invite interruptions. "What do you mean different? What changed?"

Solas bore a searching look, carefully weighing his words. "Before the Veil..." Nadas'an's entire attention snapped to the mage, scant inches between them forgotten. "...magic was more potent, the Fade was not always separate, it was... A state of nature not unlike a swift current, or at times a slow river."

He took a deep breath, trying to parse this wealth of new information, forgetting where they were. **_"WHAT?!"_**

Solas glanced to the gathering eyes above them at his outburst, "Hush Nadas'an, I do not wish to explain this to everyone."

He hissed, _"The Veil is new?!_ What caused it? What is it? Why did it cut off the Fade? Did that mean everyone was a Mage? Wait... _Time_...? Are you saying...?"

Solas gazed at him with a thinly veiled apprehension, waiting as he thought it through. "When did the Veil appear?"

"It was... _created_. A little less than three thousand years ago."

"Created? It was _made_?" Solas nodded and he slid down to slump against the cushions, counting on his fingers, absently... "That was... Is that... that was the decline of Arlathan? Is ... _that_ how elves lost their immortality?"

Solas nodded slowly, replying in words far too simple to justify the disproportionate weight they put in his chest. "It was."

All his breath left him in a rush and he sought the refuge of the anchor, palm shading his eyes as he considered the elf's new explanations. It must have something to do with what Solas had called the Evanuris, he decided. The wolf spoke readily about much- save for those dubbed creators and forgotten, save for the wolf himself. And no mention of the veil had been made before. It must be related… or perhaps there was far more than he thought that the wolf refused to mention. He spoke idly, still in a daze, "Why does no one know that? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Solas snapped at him- a bite that wounded in a different manner, "Who would believe me Nadas'an? I am an apostate in their eyes, a flat ear. They do not care to listen. And if I told them who I was, do you not think they would drive me off? Or laugh in my face?"

"I only thought..."

"Well you _thought_ wrong. The Dalish do not wish to know the world beyond their lies, content to cling to their ignorance. The humans are no more eager to listen to inconvenient truths."

He quieted, entirely disquieted at their repeat of a conversation held a very long time ago, back when he hardly knew the man. He should have known better than to say such things, he knew full well why the elf kept his mouth shut. The depth of anger that faced him was tinged with pain. He considered leaving Solas to his mood for the day, trying to remember what brought him here in the first place. He spoke softly, letting his hand fall from his eyes. "Then how do you affect things here? Do the things you touch not move from day to day? Or well, are things not where you put them yesterday?"

The elf's anger dampened as the scholar struggled to resurface, "I tend to put things back where they belong, but to be honest until you told me I thought Dorian had gone through my things again. My book was not where I left it. It makes sense now, and I imagine it did similarly in the days preceding this one." The elf hesitated. Uncertainty measured his words, "Have I not mentioned that aspect before?"

He shook his head, "No. You haven't. Though I wish you did." He huffed grumpily. All his days spent in the man's company and he was apparently still withholding information about his predicament. It did not sit well with him.

"I apologize, Nadas'an. I do not believe I kept it from you out of malice. I simply do not think it will help you."

He finally bit back under his breath, "I wish you had let me be the judge of that." The sudden clenched lines in the man's jaw signified that it had been heard. He continued less scathingly, "How is it you are not aware of this trap? How can you not see me within the curse? Is it the veil? Or because you did not cast it?"

"Likely both, Nadas'an." The wolf's tone was clipped, terse. It set him on edge, his mood spiraling further south as the man continued- finally asking his due. "Now if I've satisfied your questions, perhaps now you will tell me precisely when I claimed you?"

The rotunda had grown noisy with the sounds of parchment being shuffled, pages turned, reports traded in low tones, Leliana's birds cawed overhead. He told the man in hushed words of what he knew. In his annoyance he tested out the abbreviated version he'd been neglecting to use. The wolf's reaction was muted in the openness of the rotunda as they sat upon his couch. He remained a dark cloud, fuming quietly as the elf pondered his predicament, wondering how long he had until the advisors came looking for him. Solas finally turned to him, "I imagine you do not wish to... Spend time with me today?"

It shook him from his absentness, his vexation, "What? Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought… You seem like you would not wish my company."

"No, no..." He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. _Great_ , now Solas was on the defensive. That's not what he wanted, any more so than his anger. "I just- you're right, I don't think that information would help me. It is just something I didn't know... I am getting worse at handling new things."

"Oh?"

"I mean, not us- but I don't know... other things. Aside from you, 'new' has not been good to me lately."

He lowered his voice further as he caught sight of a well-twirled mustache peeking over the second floor railing. "I have greatly enjoyed your company Solas, and I would do so again, if my rudeness has not deterred-"

"WHAT on earth is that on your neck?!"

He groaned, palming his face, not daring to look up. Making eye contact and acknowledging Dorian's question would only make it worse. "Shit."

"What's Sparkler shouting about this time?"

Apparently worse didn't need his input, _"Tch Maldición_ … Solas- I need to- We can continue this in-" the growing smirk on the man's face stopped him cold, "-My... quarters..."

"Hey Chuckles, I had a...” Varric stopped short with a low whistle. “ _Well_...that’s not what I was expecting."

He rose to his feet, backing away from the couch and the sudden intensity of gaze that fixed on him. Dorian leaned further over the railing than he would have dared- the wood creaked ominously with his weight. A sea of eyes trained on him, or so he imagined, it felt unwise to look. "Are those? Bite marks?! _Why_ , that is exactly what they are! Good god man, who did that to you?" He shot a fleeting plea-laden look to Solas as Varric spoke, "Now this I've got to hear. So who's the lucky one who tamed the Inquisitor?"

Solas stood, smoothly pacing towards him while Dorian continued his tirade. "Mauled the Inquisitor more like."

He backed into the sturdy wooden desk, knocking over a stack of papers as he hastened to slide around it. Solas kept advancing.

"Yes, Nadas'an, do tell who it is who has laid such a claim to your body as to mark you so indiscriminately."

"It was Bull wasn't it? That brute looks the sort. And the entire fortress knows precisely how and how often he feels about redheads."

"Tiny? REALLY?"

An expanse of carved stone arrested his retreat. A wall, he met a _WALL_ \- not the corridor to the battlements, not his way out. Solas had maneuvered himself in his way. Herded him, trapped him. He felt it was somehow incredibly dangerous to look away from the man at that moment and it seemed it would be his undoing.

"I disagree. I do not think Iron Bull would know what to do unless the Qun instructed him. Besides, the marks are far too small."

"Oh? And who do you think did it Chuckles?"

"I do believe Nadas'an was just about to tell me."

They all fell silent with blatant intrigue and he stood mortified as three pairs of inquiring eyes, and many more passive onlookers above fixed on him. He cast the anchor over his eyes, straining to come up with something to get him out of this. He strongly considered naming Solas in front of them all, but he didn't wish to give the man the satisfaction. The anchor fell sharply and he fixed Solas with a withering look as he heard Cassandra calling out for the source of the commotion-  _Pale shock, blood-stained and beaten where once the forges of her anger burned_ \- Ironically only adding further to it as her metal clad steps drew nearer. _Relief to see her so, horror filled the silence of his blood._   He couldn't face her, not _now_.

He spat his answer, "It was _Fen'Harel."_

He fade stepped through the floor before they could register reactions, before he had to face The Seeker. Angling his trajectory to appear in the pillared hall, he materialized out of sight. He bolted to the study and then bolted the door. And warded it, _twice_. And _then_ cast several in the short hall, lighting candles as he went before angrily settling down in the dusty chair, his anger drifting up with the cloud of dust, fuming at how that had gone.

If only it would be so easy to leave the fortress unnoticed, but he very much doubted he would be allowed to waltz out of the gate now. Too many questions waited above and something about the battlements, a barrier in the stones that tasted of ash when he tried, made such an attempt with that particular spell impossible. Great, this day was trash, pointless, and he would be relegated to boredom at best, a repeat of darker days at worst. What had Solas said? Tell me first thing each day? Did a few hours make that much of a difference? Or was it because he demanded answers first? He scoffed, "Asshole." If he didn't know better he'd think the wolf did it on purpose simply to spite him. There was nothing else for it, he would just have to wait the day out and start over tomorrow.

He sat for what felt like hours, alternating looks that would burn and quiet curses at the door. But here in the study there was no true way to tell- save for the slow burn of the candles. If he was correct it had been perhaps only two hours. And no one had come looking. Perhaps he could reach the tower, barricade himself in his room, and ignore the world in the comfort of his gilded cage. He quietly undid his work, reaching the door to listen. If he had the correct time it would be empty of anyone but maybe a servant or two. He quickly unbolted the door and slipped out to stand behind a pillar, waiting, tense- but there was nothing to indicate an ambush, a trap. He sprinted to the opposite side of the room, fade stepping upwards to the stairwell of his tower. He crept up the stairs silently, shifting his weight smoothly from one foot to the other. His door was shut, it looked untampered with and it appeared no one was within earshot so he gave up his care. Quietly retiring to his room, he cursed the grumble of his stomach as he shut the door and locked it, warding it for good measure.

The scent of food froze his ascent. Someone had brought food to his room? Who? And were they still here? He crept upwards, his breath held. Peeking through the railing only to see Solas sprawled out on his couch as if he owned the thing, leisurely reading a book in one hand, nibbling on a pastry with the other. A woven basket full of such enticing tarts sat on the floor within the wolf's domain. He seethed at the man from his spot, unsurprised when the Mage looked up with a growing smirk. "It took you longer than I expected."

He snarled at the man as he climbed the rest of his stairs, striding as far away as the confines of the room would allow, settling down behind his desk, folding his arms over his chest. "It wouldn't have been necessary if you weren't such an asshole."

He almost delighted in the incredulous rise of the man's eyebrows, lofty with annoyance as the elf sat up. "As you so tactfully put it before, you were rather rude this morning. Though, I do not recall needing to call you an ass."

"Yeah well, at least I didn't put you on the spot in front of half the fortress. What would you have done if I told them it was you?"

Solas settled back down across his couch, dismissively refocusing on the book. "I would have owned up to it, Nadas'an. Perhaps next time you will remember my name."

That remark cut quick to the bone, he sucked in a sharp breath, and shot to his feet, reflexively looking for a way out- Ultimately heading for the balcony to at least put a door between them that wouldn't require having to approach the elf. He braced his hands against the railing. The frigid stone numbed his bare feet but not his anger. Staring absently at the slope of the glacier, he watched a fennec far from home loping across the ice. He wondered what the two of them had gotten themselves into, wishing to switch places with the creature. Though, he would not wish today's Solas on the poor thing.

He tried to let it go, pacing his mind, his anger- he would need to in order to wait out the man who could wait forever. But then... it would only take a day.

It was day five hundred and ninety-five, thirteen days since the markings, fourteen spent in Solas' company, well if you counted the travesty this day was shaping up to be. The marks were healing slowly. No longer open wounds, but newly fleshed over marks in a raw pink hue. Some more healed than others, the man had a certain fascination with the place where his neck sloped into the muscles of his shoulder. The marks there were more readily subject to being reopened in a fit of passion.

He shouldn't have been surprised he supposed, for it to take so long to come upon a bad day. It was merely inevitable, though it paled in comparison to his usual bad days. What he knew of the man, of the wolf suggested he was an immensely prideful creature, despite the effort spent to appear entirely otherwise. It was something of a common ground between them, and he'd considered the propensity for it to clash. Knowing didn't make it any easier to endure.

There were a lot of things he hadn't known before Solas.

His odd lover was mildly allergic to rosemary. The scent of it sent the elf into what had to be the most adorable fit of sneezes he'd seen in his life. Incapable of sneezing once, instead it produced a rapid fire response that had the elf doubled over, face contorted involuntarily until it passed- only to make a resurgence a short while later. Whereas any application of it to the skin, meant a rash that persisted through most spells, and all but one of his salves. It had put a damper on their plans for that particular day, a certain soap ruined a certain bath, but it had not felt wasted nonetheless.

While the man was often a clockwork mystery, the wolf was a wildly unpredictable one once summoned. Sometimes granting him the swift release he sought, but more often prolonging his heated torture in ways that varied with the position. Bringing him to the edge of release only to pull back, waiting for it to abate. Not letting him come until he begged himself to incoherence, more wanton noises than words. It then took little more than a light caress of his cock, and a heated order for him to come at his lover's command. Violently straining against his capture as his release tore through him, his form in full heated rebellion swiftly granting his captor's undoing.

He'd asked once, a few days ago, how he could possibly be so unpredictable. Solas had drawn him in with a sharply proud grin. "You called my other name as if it will bring you what you desire. I simply avoided doing the first few things that came to mind." He'd laughed at that, not sure why he could expect any different from his mutinous lover, the wolf in all his cunning.

In the face of such buoyant memories of the past two weeks, it was difficult to stay angry- though he put up a good effort. Why did he always have to fall for the asshole? He chuckled quietly. This wasn't new. He had known Solas was capable of this. Beneath that carefully calm exterior lay a _very_ grumpy old man, long set in his ways.

_Freckles_. It was always the freckles. He sighed heavily, leaning further over the railing in a last ditch bid to distract his thoughts. No, it was more than just freckles. Solas was entirely captivating... yet spectacularly infuriating. Facing the elf would fix his predicament, but... what if he did it wrong? What if Solas ended it instead? He would forget, and tomorrow... he sighed heavily. Abiding the elf's wishes would take a strength he didn't think he had. No, perhaps it was better to wait, leave things where they lie and start over tomorrow.

He stubbornly lingered on the balcony until noon, the occasional turn of a page and the persistent rumbling of his stomach were the only consistent things that broke the silence. A knock at his door came and went ages ago, though neither he nor Solas moved to answer it.

The elf had probably eaten all the pastries by now.

He finally gathered the will to crawl back to bed to try and doze off the rest of the day, the cold and his stubborn immobility had given rise to stiff muscles all over. He strode back into the room without a word and not so much as a glance at the mage, unceremoniously stripped down and climbed into bed, shutting his eyes to the world. Trying in vain to shut his mind off to the hunger and the lingering hurt.

He dozed off and on dreamlessly, eventually waking to the growing hollow pit and to a weight settling down at his side, a small peace offering in the shape of a woven basket placed just out of reach. He couldn't help the pained look as he met Solas' gaze. The mage's carefully crafted neutral expression fell into one of worry.

They both began to apologize for their transgressions simultaneously, breaking off into quiet laughs.

He shifted to sit up slightly, running a hand down his face. "I am sorry for being rude with you Solas, it's just... Frustrating being trapped, forgotten each day- constantly being hurt at every turn, constantly waking alone. It is tiring. When things change- when I thought they couldn't... They give me a hope I cannot afford."

Solas' eyes softened.

"I am sorry Nadas'an, what I did was petty, selfish. I won't deny I wished to hear you claim me for all to know- as I have apparently claimed you." He sat up in mild surprise, contemplating the Mage, and then the basket.

"Was that all? I could rectify that, if you still desire it."

Solas shook his head, "No, I am certain they would take your time from me. Time I would much rather spend exploring this, if you would have me."

"If I can have some of those tarts I will give you anything you want Solas."

The elf chuckled, pushing the basket closer. "I was going to make you work for these, but when you put it like that-" Solas trailed off into a look of amusement as he shoved the first of several pastries in his mouth. He swallowed hastily, realizing he was the subject of a prolonged stare, "Oh? _Mmnf_... What would you have me do?"

"I would give you something else to swallow."

 

At least Solas had let him eat his fill first, pleasure always sat hollow with him on an empty stomach. Though, his meal was quick and not without teasing, hands that wandered, a different sort of tension grew between them. He let Solas finally resume the exploration of his markings, a caress that undressed him in his search for knowledge. The way he'd spoken those heated words, well- it cultivated an entirely different appetite, and one he was eager to sate.

The basket lay abandoned on the couch, his shirt had been cast off to the floor, most of Solas' clothes joined it. The taste of raspberries, sweet and salty flavored their kiss. Their _'first'_ kiss was always his favorite. It was perfection, new each day- tentative, but something lingered beneath the surface... a depth that was far older. It... it was like greeting an old lover after a long time apart. He couldn't explain it. It pulled at his chest with a longing that ached, and then soft lips turned deft, demanding. Intoxicating, a fine red wine, sweetness that aged with a tang of copper as teeth marked him anew. It signified the shift in the man's hunger, a rite of passage- a permission that led to a depth of passion.

_The rest of their clothing didn't stand a chance._

He lay on his back, bare-skinned, bare faced- Solas refused to let him do this while marked by another and he had no objections. He watched the wolf return the salve to his bookcase, tipping his head back just over the edge of the bed as the man sauntered back to him. A potent shiver shot through him despite the fire roaring in his hearth, despite the balcony doors firmly shut against the chilled afternoon air. The only downside to what they were about to do was the fact he wouldn't be able to see his lover's face. Solas knelt before him, adorned in an open gaze bereft of the predatory notes that preceded it. It was like looking down a very long well, darkness encroaching on all sides save for a small reflection of light off the water below. It gave him the most curious sensation of falling, a flutter in his stomach. Long fingers caressed his jaw before the elf leaned in to brand him with a searing kiss. Soft words painted his lips, "Are you sure you wish to do this Nadas'an? I will not force you."

He nodded upside-down, a crooked smirk firmly in place despite the blood rushing to a dull roar in his ears, despite the pressure settling at his temples. "I want to do this Solas. You're the one always going on about me experiencing new, ah ... _things._ " He could almost hear the roll of eyes. A quick kiss pressed to his lips belied the man's appearance of patience, equally as quick to stand before him, cock bobbing with the movement, tantalizingly erect. His hands slid up the back of the elf's pale thighs, drawing him in. He took a deep breath before the flushed head of Solas' cock pressed to his lips. He teased with a kiss, a languorous lick against the small slit already beading with the man's obvious arousal, savoring the slick fluid. He opened his mouth as Solas eased inward, wrapping his lips tight around the head, swirling his tongue before hollowing his cheeks, sucking the man in further. A low breathy groan from above filled him with pride and he fought the tremendous urge to laugh- _he'd have to remember that one later._ His cock twitched, and he could almost feel the weight of a gaze sliding down his body- _Would that he could feel it in truth as a caress_. He worked torturously slow as the touch along the line of his jaw trailed to his ears, teasing his fingers up the soft insides of Solas' thighs, brushing lightly against his tightening sack, laving his tongue along the pronounced veins, gradually slicking the elf's thick cock that had begun to beat with the pulse of his life. He would make himself fluent in Solas' sounds, coaxing a stunning amount of that soft heated language from his lover's lips.

His grip relaxed, he softened his mouth, eased his jaw open wider- and pulled the man _forward_.

The sounds became thickly lustful words, lyrically breathless- he caught most of the meaning and it was enough to make him blush more deeply than the already abundant rush of blood to his head. Solas' hands pressed firmly to encompass the sides of his neck, he took a deep breath as his lover's cock slid deeper, brushing over the rise of his tongue nudging the back of his throat. He swallowed reflexively, quelling the lingering urge to gag, and the rigid length sank deeper. He vaguely registered Solas' palms shift over the lengthening bulge in his throat, easing in, filling him until his lips met the base of his cock. His own cock twitched heavily to the sound of the throaty moan that parted the weighted silence. He longed to see the look of pleasure that surely adorned the man's features as he set a slow rhythm, but the sight of his lean thighs tensing with each careful thrust was an adequate consolation.

He longed to touch himself, his cock painfully erect as Solas repeatedly thrust down his throat- yet he quickly learned the Mage would not allow it. A quiet tut, Pausing thrust fully in, the tip of his nose pressed against the man's sack any time his hand drifted towards his cock. Holding it almost cruelly until the muscles in his neck corded, _begging_ for air. Withdrawing once his hands gripped the backs of his thighs once more.

He was never sure just who was in control.

Hands left his throat, walking down his form as Solas gradually leaned over him, thrusting shallowly, withdrawing from his throat. A thigh maneuvered from his grasp to settle a knee on the edge of the bed, forearms pressed heavily against his thighs. And then his neglected cock was laved by a hot tongue. He tensed against the weight pinning him, moaned with conviction as Solas took him into his mouth. Head bobbing over his cock, the motion timed with gentle thrusts into his own. He reached up to steady the elf and ground himself, firmly gripping the elf's toned ass, coaxing deeper thrusts. The effort sent a moan reverberating through his length.

Hot liquid tension pooled in his groin with startling speed. He fleetingly praised how deft the man was at cultivating his pleasure with a choked groan. As full as his mouth was he couldn't warn the elf of his impending release, tensing to keep from thrusting harshly upward into that soft mouth, harsher thrusts claimed his own. Solas' cock suddenly sank deep into his throat once more and _throbbed_. Overcome he unraveled, shuddering violently as he came, his seed spilling within the sweet mouth that gently sucked him, a hand wrapped tight around his shaft the other massaging his twitching stones, elbows braced against his shaking thighs. Solas' cock twitched rhythmically against his tongue, thrusting to the hilt in short sharp juts. He felt the hot spill pump down his throat as the man rocked out his release. He longed for breath- the absence of it made the end of his own release a primal _chaotic_ thing. Solas all at once released him and withdrew and he coughed violently, drawing air into his lungs just as his consciousness wavered. He looked up through streaming eyes in time to see the wolf swallow, an innately prideful look on his face, as if he'd just won something spectacular, the slightest trail of his spend leaking from the edge of full lips.

It affected him far more than he would have thought.

He weakly rolled away from the edge of the precipice, towards the center of the bed, reaching up to drag Solas down with him. His lover offered no resistance. Claiming the man's mouth, he chased that trail with his tongue, sharing the taste that was strictly theirs as their bodies pressed tight in a tangled embrace.

 

Hours were spent in quiet repose. Recanting some of the kinder days he'd spent in this spelled stasis, retelling Solas of the last two weeks they had spent together. He couldn't keep the levity in his chest from tinting his voice. It was as infectious as the peace he caught settling on his lover's face. It was no longer quite so strange to see, though, he could not guess at its fleeting depth. 

The day was well in its decline as he looked idly to the western windows, watching the sky paint itself in passionate hues. Something nagged at him, his expression scrunched in recall- something in this day left undone.  Pale fingers wound idly through his hair as he silently retraced his steps. The source dawned on him as Solas retraced _his_ , touch tracing the marks that _branded_.  Of course.  _Pride._ If he did this right he need not even leave the tower to sate that. The thought amused him, perhaps there was still time for sating, _after._ He briefly scanned the shadows, hoping his actions hadn't disturbed too many routines.

He spared a mischievous glance at Solas before he tried to escape the comforting embrace- only to be weighed down by the anchor. Lithe fingers grasped his wrist, pulling him back into greedy arms.

"And where do you think you are going?"

He laughed at the tickle that trailed the elf's fingers, fighting in vain not to be dragged back into comfort, a sharp grin nipped at his neck. "I'm going to show you something -if you let me."

The embrace relented with reluctance in the form of a lingering grasp. Suddenly freed, he shot off towards the balcony over the garden, throwing wide the glass door. Forcibly quelling the shock of cold that bit deep, he scanned the fortress for the person he sought as Solas paused against the doorway- Uniquely curious of his sudden flight.

He'd either misjudged the time or his actions made Varric late heading to the tavern, but down below someone else caught his eye. _Ah yes_ , he would do just fine.

Dorian jumped out of his skin as he shouted down at the man, grabbing his undivided attention. Forgetting that he'd ran to the balcony completely nude- it was possible that the prolonged attention was less due to his shout and more due to his state of undress.

He waved off the muted cursing, cupping his hands around his mouth.

**"THE BITE MARKS WERE FROM _SOLAS!"_**

Complete and utter shock griped the man and he nearly fell over backwards with a spiced laugh. Muffled disbelief floated up with the curses of the other inhabitants of the garden. For a faithful sort, their language was rather colorful, 'Andraste's _this_ , the Maker's _that'_. He looked back to Solas, eyebrow raised, hand outstretched.

The elf rolled his eyes, but the smirk he couldn't quite stifle betrayed his sated pride, acquiescing to appear at his side on the balcony.

The Tevinter had a full blown heart attack. Hand clasped to his chest, jaw dropped. He shook with a rolling mirth, the warmth of long fingers threading through his own spread through him. Dorian's reaction was so theatrical he suddenly questioned the man's nationality- right then he could have passed as perfectly Orlesian.

Then again maybe it was the fact that Solas was _equally_ nude.

 

Pride thoroughly appeased, they returned to their solitude, lying in contented silence, mapping each other's forms with light fingers, quietly counting freckles, pressing kiss after kiss to the curves and lines they favored. When the snow finally came drifting downwards with the dying of the light they ensconced themselves in the heated bath, readily ignoring the notably more frequent knocks at his still warded door.

 

He woke the next morning alone.

The basket remained, carefully placed on his desk where his helm usually lay missing, next to the discarded dagger. The uneaten pastries from yesterday lay within. It was a sweet gesture, a lingering apology.

It brought a genuine smile to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Things not adding up intensifies] I can only imagine these things must look like glaring plot holes. I swear, there's a reason for it.
> 
> I debated for a _very_ long time when about to say the veil went up. It's probably way off. /shrug.
> 
> PS: Nadas'an is a bit of an unreliable narrator. He thinks he knows more than he actually does at times. Being in his odd position of power (the only one who remembers everything, not as Inquisitor) has made him a bit arrogant. Just something to keep in mind that I can't very well articulate without another POV. 
> 
> Though _that_ will be coming up in a chapter or two.
> 
> I think next chapter will probably be fluff. A larger skip ahead. Maybe I'll actually _finally_ describe clan Arvenis. They're the best Dalish clan _ever_ , mostly cause I made them up and they're cool as fuck. Suck it Lavellan. 
> 
> J/K I love you lavellan.
> 
>  
> 
> **[4/26/18] - WHAT YEAR IS IT???** Good gods where have I been. You ever just sorta dream your way through life for a bit then wake up and wonder wtf you're doing with it? I hate that I seem to go through creative deserts... wait that sounds way more fun that it is... I mean the absolute absence of that... _Spark_. 
> 
> Creativity is the closest thing I know to magic and I feel like I've been made tranquil this past year. 
> 
> I'm trying to come back.  
> I want to come back.


End file.
